


now's the time to be alive

by thisstableground



Series: less than ninety degrees [9]
Category: Do No Harm (TV)
Genre: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, Everyone Is Learning How To Adult, Long-Distance Relationship, Multi, Multimedia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, yeah you heard right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisstableground/pseuds/thisstableground
Summary: Vanessa tries to figure out California living, Ruben tries to make new friends, and Usnavi just tries his best.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [a/n: it's a fic! i...don't have much else to say. it's got pictures in it! hopefully that makes up for the total lack of structured plot! title from 1940 by The Submarines]

** Prologue: one party,one photo, three lists. **

Twenty minutes into twenty-eighteen, Ruben is alone on a fire escape.

It’s less tragic than it sounds. He was inside for the party beforehand, though admittedly mostly he’s just been trailing behind Usnavi and-or Vanessa. There’s a chance they’d rather be out with Carla and Benny and a bunch of others who have gone to some club night somewhere, but they were appalled at the idea of him ringing in the new year alone when he suggested they go along, and besides Usnavi said it’d be unfair to Sonny. Dani was hosting a party anyway, claiming that she’s too old now to go wild like the younger ones, which is clearly a lie: while most people here do seem to skew a decade to either side of Ruben's age, that doesn’t seem to have toned it down in the slightest. It’s not the first time during the evening that he’s had to duck out for a breather.

He was inside for the countdown too, for his first ever real New Year’s kiss. _That_ was pretty awesome, even though Ruben’s heart was racing at how many strangers were there who could see them all together, and even though Usnavi’s wasted enough that the delicate navigation of a three-way kiss escaped him and he ended up headbutting Vanessa. 

The shrieks of celebration still haven’t died down and there’s so many people crammed into Dani’s studio apartment and spilling out on the fire escape outside her window. So here Ruben is, taking refuge outside and three floors down in a quiet-ish spot, listening to people above and in the street below singing and laughing and arguing.

There’s the quiet clanging of shoes on metal, and “found you,” Vanessa says, leaning over the stairs to smile at him before she comes the rest of the way down. “Too much?”

“Kinda,” Ruben says. “But I’m glad we came. You can go back in if you want, I’m just waiting for the noise.”

“Nah,” Vanessa says. She ducks under where Ruben’s arms are resting on the railing, so that they’re close against each other with Vanessa facing towards him. She’s in heels. It’s a distracting height difference. “Eyes up here, babe. What’s got you lookin’ so thinky? Thoughtful. Whatever the word is.”

Usnavi’s not the only one who’s drunk. Ruben’s just the other side of tipsy too, but he’s not gonna have any more tonight. _Someone’s_ got to make sure they don’t cause a scandal on the way back home.

“Just...life. This time last year I was packing a suitcase. Well, not this exact time, it’s like midnight, but the general, uh, January. To move here,” he clarifies. “The suitcase was for moving here. ”

“Yeah, I got that much,” Vanessa says. She smirks at him. “So. Good decision?”  


“Eh, I guess it worked out okay.”

“WHOOMP, there they is!”

And here’s Usnavi, more falling down the stairs than walking, a plastic champagne flute in either hand. He spills most of one and knocks back the other in one go. Earlier, he’d told them that he hasn’t had New Year’s day off work since he’s been old enough to drink. Apparently he’s embracing the opportunity to be disgustingly hungover with his whole heart, and most of his liver too.

“Ruben came out here for quiet,” Vanessa informs him, as if Ruben would be bothered by Usnavi being noisy. Usnavi makes a zipping motion over his mouth anyway.

“Whoomp, there they is!” he whispers, just as enthusiastic. “Ay, mis most radiant and bueno novio y novia,my New Year’s angels, are we chillin’ or illin’ on this here fire escape? Or potentially thrillin’.” He points at Vanessa and does an alarming thing with his eyebrows.

“You’re definitely gonna be chilled and subsequently illed if you spend too long out here dressed like that,” Ruben says. “How’d you lose your shirt in the two minutes I’ve been gone?”

“I didn’t _lose_ it,” Usnavi says. “I liberated it, deliberately. Living my best life in dos mil dieciocho! I am warmed by the heat of freedom! Hell, I could take off my pants too and it would not even be like, a thing.”

He pushes his empty champagne glasses into Ruben’s hands and starts unbuckling his belt.

“Yes,” Vanessa says. “I like where this is going.”

“ _No_ ,” Ruben says. “There’s important things in those pants. Frostbite dick is a bad way to start a year.”

Usnavi abandons his attempts to strip and presses a damp kiss to somewhere vaguely near Ruben’s mouth instead. “I’d let _you_ frostbite my dick.”

“…What?”

“What?” Usnavi says, already distracted. “Hey! It’s twenty-eighteen! What’s everyone’s resoluciones?”

“New Year’s resolutions are just a play by the diet and fitness industry to try and shame people into spending a fortune on gym memberships and protein powder they’ll never use,” Vanessa says, smoothly enough that Ruben is instantly certain she’s been saying the exact same thing every time someone asks for several years.

“When did you get so cynical?” Usnavi asks, tutting.

“Trust me, I’m right. And if I wanted to change shit I’d change it, it don’t make a difference what day of the year it is.”

Usnavi abandons that line of attack and turns to Ruben instead. "Ruben, what’s yours?”

“Well, I feel stupid now, because actually it was to go to the gym and drink more protein shakes,” Ruben says.

“You live your dreams,” Usnavi tells him earnestly. “We’ll show Vanessa when she comes back from California and you’re all built. See who’s laughing then.”

“If Ruben ever gets built it’ll definitely still be me laughing,” Vanessa says, poking Ruben in the belly. “And don’t you dare. You’re perfect as you are.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ll miss taking naps on me when I have an eight-pack.”

“Neither of you are taking this seriously,” Usnavi says. “You should do resolutions. We should all sit down and make a list tomorrow. All my online therapy stuff says that having a clear and attainable set of goals is good for you.”

“Like you’ll even remember this tomorrow,”Vanessa scoffs, but she’s definitely already given in. “Do _you_ have clear and attainable goals?”

“I dunno,” Usnavi shrugs. “Not yet. But this is gonna be a good year. It’s gonna be our year.”

“Well,” Ruben says. “Start as you mean to go on.”

He pulls them both in for a kiss, more successful than the messy end of countdown one. And if the whole year is like this, soft and close and champagne-tasting, he definitely agrees with Usnavi that it’s gonna be a good one. He could hold this moment forever.

“Y’all,” Usnavi says, not bothering to pull away. “I’m fucking freezing.”

***

[New Years Eve, 2018.]

  
  
[Resolutions.]

1\. Vanessa

2\. Ruben

3\. Usnavi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n: i just REALLY LIKE DOING CHARACTER HANDWRITING is mostly my reason for this. i know my camera quality is crappy - i'm using an iphone - but like, deal with it]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n: if there's mistakes then i'll sort them some other day, i am So Tired. but i done it! also i really hope i didn't mess up any of the three kings day stuff, its not a holiday im familiar with from personal experience so tell me if i fucked it]

**** **January 1.**

****

*******

**January 2.**

“Guess who isn’t dy-iiing!” Usnavi sings, walking into Ruben’s kitchen with his hands raised high.

“Oh, I know this one,” Ruben says. “Trick question. We’re all technically dying. Even the universe is dying.”

Usnavi stares at him for several long, blank-faced seconds then turns to Vanessa. “Vanessa!”

“Is it you who isn’t dying?” she asks, lowkey tension about that whole situation finally dissipating out from where it’s been malingering in her subconscious.

“It  _is_  me who isn’t dying!” he shouts joyfully, taking his hat off to throw it down on the kitchen table with forceful melodrama, disturbing several of Vanessa’s pens which roll off in all directions. He picks them up apologetically. “What’s all this for?”

“I’m studying,” she says, and oops, here comes the feeling tense again, such a short vacation. “So it went good at the doctors?”

“It went very good,” he confirms, sitting down at the empty chair in between Vanessa and Ruben and putting his hat back on. “She says chances of me suddenly kicking it are basically none – or I guess no more than your average unstrangled person, at least – so she doesn’t think I need to book in any more follow-ups, I can just call in if I feel like anything’s wrong. Soy vivo, motherfuckers!”

“That’s awesome,” Ruben says, smiling at him, and Vanessa cheers quietly.

“I mean,” Usnavi adds. “She did say that there still might be long term effects like on my mental health or my brain functioning but whatever, that shit’s been a mess since go anyway. Nothing we can’t handle so far.”

“Awesome,” Ruben repeats, and tugs on Usnavi’s hand so he’ll lean over for a kiss. “Hey. I’m really proud of you.”

“What, for not being dead? Yeah, thanks, but no real conscious effort on my part there, that was just my body.”

“Not actually what I meant but fine, your body deserves to be told good things too.”

“Damn right it does,” Vanessa says. Usnavi winks at her. “That’s really great news, honey, must be a weight off.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been trying not to worry about it, but...” he shrugs, and pulls Vanessa’s notebook towards him. “What are you studying for?”

“Photography stuff, for California,” she says. “Did you know that there’s way more to it than just  _here’s a thing, point the camera at it and press the button?_  Apertures and shutter speed and whatever the fuck. I shoulda started this weeks ago but I’ve barely had time to think about it till today.”

Ruben and Usnavi are both clearly about to say something, so she adds, “and if either one of you even thinks about apologizing for that I’m going to fucking scream,” and they shuffle sheepishly. So predictable.

She takes off her glasses to press the heels of her hands against her eyes with a groan. “I’ve picked up some stuff here and there on the job, but I’ve never owned a camera that’s not also a phone. How did I trick them into hiring me for this?”

“It’s a learning position,” Ruben says, which he’s been saying all afternoon, despite the fact Vanessa’s resolutely refusing to accept it. “They hired you because of your potential, not because they think you know everything already. You’ve been on shoots before, they must have seen you have raw skill. I’ve seen your photos, they’re really pretty!”

“Thanks, babe, but no offence, you wouldn’t understand fashion photography if it came and insulted that nightmare of a tie you’re wearing right to your face. It’s a brutal industry, they’ll eat me alive if I don’t know my stuff.”

“I like this tie,” Ruben says placidly. Which he shouldn’t. Vanessa’s not one to pick at the boys and their total lack of fashion sense - keep work and home life separate, and anyway, if their shapelessly oversized jeans and ugly festive sweaters make them happy then she’s not going to take that away from them. But there’s gotta be a line, and that tie has crossed it. Before she can say anything, or take it off him so she can burn it in ritual sacrifice, Ruben’s phone rings. “Oh, hold up, I gotta take this. ¡Hola, Mamá! ¿Cómo estás?”

He leaves to take the call in the bedroom. Usnavi picks up Vanessa’s glasses and puts them on.

“I always forget you need these. Your prescription is crazy.” He closes his left eye, “all fine.” Then he switches to the right, “and now I can’t see shit. Does that mean if I stand on your left when you don’t have them on then I just look like a big blur to you? Is that how I scammed you into dating me?”

“I generally use both eyes at once,” she says, taking them off his face. “Gimme those, I gotta get this done.”

“You look so cute in glasses.”

“I look cute in everything. Fuck me running, I’m so unprepared for this job. And I don’t even know how to study! I’m basically just writing this entire site down word-for-word. How the shit did Nina and Ruben spend their whole childhoods doing this kinda thing?”

“I remember you always used to say that whenever you had tests coming up at school too, and you always did good at those,” Usnavi says, tugging her laptop charger towards him and twining the cable between his fingers. “You don’t need to worry so much about it.”

Actually, she just did okay in school, but it’s hard to argue with Usnavi of all people on this point: he worked his ass off for his 2.0 GPA, and was just happy to graduate at all, so anything she says about her own grades risks coming out as a backhand face-slap to that. And Ruben wouldn’t get it either, because he also worked his ass off and is off-the-charts genius. Vanessa took a lot longer to grow into the concept of trying: she could’ve done so much better than her distinctly mediocre 3.1, if she’d only given a damn back then.

“Yeah, I know. I just sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I’d put in more effort. And I really care about this job. I wanna be better than average.”

“If there’s one thing you ain’t, it’s average,” Usnavi says.

Ruben comes back in. “It’s all set for Friday!” he says, beaming. “Oh, man, I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

Usnavi kicks his legs out excitedly, catching against Vanessa’s under the table. “What are you gonna do with them when they’re here? Can we hang out too?”

“Obviously,” Ruben says. “But I dunno, actually. We already did all the tourist stuff back when Abuela used to live in the city, and I don’t know much outside of the Heights and college.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Usnavi says. “Give the Marcados the inside scoop from a coupla native New Yorkers, right, Vanessa?”

“Right,” she agrees, trying to sound as enthusiastic as he does. Oh, boy. Talk about feeling unprepared. Ruben had said his family were coming down some time in January, but somehow Vanessa had hoped that it’d be after she was safely on another coast, even when he said they were aiming for this weekend. She leans back into her laptop screen closer than necessary to read the work she was doing earlier, scribbling some nonsense down on the paper next to her and pretending she’s not holding the pen with a death grip.

The meet the family thing isn’t something she’s ever had to deal with before. She supposes it was inevitable, in much the same way that death is inevitable but she’d still rather it not come knocking this fucking Friday.

“You’re looking at that screen like you’re gonna climb through it and beat the crap out of your laptop from the inside,” Ruben says. “Still feeling unprepared?”

“You can say that again,” she mutters, and doesn’t clarify. Like she’s gonna tell him what’s bothering her now when he looks so radiant about it.

“You know you don’t have to know every single thing about cameras before you go?”

“Would that stop you trying to learn if you were me?”

Not in the slightest,” Ruben says. “Want me to quiz you?“

“Sure,” she answers, and tries to let Ruben’s professor-voice and her own responses and Usnavi’s unhelpful commentary drown out everything she’s thinking about the weekend ahead.

***

**January 3.**

“Will you sit the hell down, Vanessa? You’re making me realize what it must be like living with me all the time and I don’t need that kind of self-awareness.”

Vanessa is pacing her living room, restless. She stops still at his words, shaking her head and running her fingers through her hair. Usnavi is momentarily distracted by how much she looks like a shampoo commercial, at least up until she points at him and says “You! Why aren’t you freaking out too?! Why am I the only one who seems to grasp the, the bigness of it! We’re meeting parents!”

“We’re meeting parent,” he corrects her. “And siblings.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

What’s got her all riled up about this? Usnavi gets on well with most people because he’s relentlessly friendly but he’s not gonna kid himself, Vanessa’s the most socially competent out of all of them. She was probably born knowing how to properly introduce herself to the not-quite-in-laws. Probably won’t even trip over her own feet while she tries to do it.

“I don’t know what you mean, actually,” he says. “Is it a commitment thing? Hate to break it, but we’re already committed, querida. Hell, you’re the one called him family a couple weeks ago, I know you ain’t backtracking on that.”

“No, that’s not the problem,” she says, flinging herself down on the sofa next to him. “The problem is that parents hate me, Usnavi.”

“Says who?! My parents loved you.”

He remembers it well: when Vanessa started doing her own grocery shopping way younger than she really should’ve done, the way his mom would always slip a free packet of M&Ms in there, insisting she deserved a treat. Or when Vanessa would show up to neighborhood events alone while everyone else had their families alongside, the way his dad would shout “here she is, it’s Vanessa García!” and then pretend like she was some big movie star he was escorting through the party, saying things like “no paparazzi, por favor” and “stand aside, don’t you know who this  _is_?” until she started giggling uncontrollably.

There were always long stretches of time when Usnavi and Vanessa weren’t exactly friends, even if they were still friendly – they were in different grades, they had different social circles – but he thinks it’s at least partly because his parents liked her that sooner or later they’d end up drawing back together, regular like planets at a point of crossover in orbit, up till they starting spinning together. His folks would be thrilled to find out how things ended up between them.

Vanessa’s not buying it, though. “That doesn’t count, I wasn’t dating you then. And your parents loved everyone so long as they were nice to you. But like, Nina’s dad hates me, so there’s one.”

Well. Kevin is a little more complicated, Usnavi’s gotta admit that. “He does not! He just...uh.”

“Thinks I’m a bad influence on Nina? Thinks I’m not good enough to be her best friend?”

“He’s not as bad as he used to be,” Usnavi protests weakly. “Besides, he was like that with Benny too, you know he’s just overprotective.”

Vanessa sighs with her whole body, and quietly says, “even my own parents don’t like me very much."

“Oh, querida, _no_. Come here.” He pulls her onto his lap so he can cuddle her properly, damping down the urge to call her parents and give them a piece of his mind, but only because actually doing it would cause more problems than it’d solve. God knows they deserve it. He’s kind of jealous that Ruben got to yell at Vanessa’s dad that one time. “That’s a problem with them, not you.”

“Is it, though?” she says, glaring at the wall, letting Usnavi hug her close as she walks her fingers up and down his shirt buttons. 

Usnavi just can’t bear to see Vanessa sad. Especially not over this, because it’s something that shouldn’t even be a thing. He’s got his own family-related hang ups, sure, but growing up in a home without love was never one of them - he was always surrounded by it, unlimited and unconditional. He can’t imagine how much it must have sucked to not have that. Then again, also can’t imagine how anyone could spend any amount of time around Vanessa and not want to give her the whole world and shower her with adoration, so none of it has ever made much sense to him, but that’s how things go sometimes.

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”

“Yeah?” she says, glancing his way.

“No, I mean, look at me. And if Ruben were here I’d say look at him too, but you can just imagine him in your head, look how  _cute_  we are. How lovable and friendly and handsome and well-endo—“

“Is this going somewhere?” she interrupts. Usnavi notes victoriously that now she’s trying to fight down a smile.

“Yes,” he says. “We’re all this and your dad still hates me and Ruben. Your mom at best thinks I’m a nice dude who’s dragging you down because I ain’t smart or rich or a career guy. You’ve not introduced her to Ruben even though he’s gonna be all three of those. Why’s that? Is it because you think they’re right about us being wasters or not good enough for you or whatever else they say?”

“No,” she says fiercely. “That’s because they don’t understand anything and they’ve got terrible taste in people. You know I don’t give half a damn about their opinion on you.”

“Then if they’re so wrong about us, why would they be right about you?”

Vanessa gestures her hands at him like she’s intent on arguing but can’t actually find a point to make, then thunks her head against his shoulder disapprovingly. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Nah,” Usnavi says. “You know I’m right. You’re better than how they treated you, Vanessa, you’re the best. Anyone who doesn’t see it can go fuck themselves. Even Ruben’s mom, if she somehow ends up hating you, which is _impossible_ , but if she makes you feel bad I swear that I will fight her for your honor.”

“Don’t do that,” Vanessa says, and now she’s laughing, so Usnavi wins this conversation. “Ruben would be upset.”

“What, again?” says Ruben, and both of them jump. They didn’t hear him come in. “Don’t I get enough of that without you two actively plotting against me?”

“Usnavi’s gonna fight your mom,” Vanessa informs him.

“…Why?” Ruben asks, sitting on the couch and kicking off his shoes.

“Because Vanessa thinks your mom will hate her,” Usnavi explains.

“It’s not like it’s gonna be the first time you’ve ever interacted with her. Anyway, Ma already thinks you’re both great.”

“Plenty of time for that to change,” Vanessa says, darkly. “I’m already shitting myself over how I’m even supposed to say hello to her. Is it handshake? Cheek kiss? Polite nod? Do I call her Sra. Marcado? Sra. Ruben’s Mom? Estefanía? What’s the protocol?"

“Welcome to every single day in my social skills,” Ruben says. “She’ll probably hug you, and you can just call her by her first name. Chill out. There’s really nothing you’re gonna do that’ll make a bad impression.”

“What if I grab your ass with both hands right in front of her and say _hi, Estefanía, I’ve had your sons dick in my mouth_?” Vanessa suggests.

“ _Hi, Estefanía, your son’s had_ my _dick in_ his _mouth?_ ” Usnavi adds. “Thanks a whole bunch for putting that in my head, Vanessa, you know how bad my impulse control is.”

“People always like you too much. I gotta play dirty to get the advantage.”

“Okay, well obviously don’t talk about anyone’s dicks to my mom, she’s already far too aware of my sex life,” Ruben says, then immediately looks like he regrets it when they stare at him with interest. “No.”

“But Ruben, story time!”

“Nooope.”

“Please,” Usnavi says, making his eyes do the pleading thing that Ruben has no immunity against. “For Vanessa, to cheer her up. She grew up in a broken home, you know, she needs all the help she can get.”

“It’s true, I do.”

“Eesh,” Ruben says. “ _Fine_. So you know how I was dead for a while?”

“Vaguely, yeah.”

“And you know how people’s families come to clear out their houses when they’re dead?”

“Yeah?”

“And you know how I have a number of, uh, personal adult items in my underwear drawer?”

“Oh _no_ ,” Vanessa says, cringing away violently. “Oh nooooo, no, nope. Holy shit, dude, I woulda just stayed dead, I think.”

“Right? You know when I tell you guys I really need you to distract me, it’s not always because of the knife thing, sometimes it’s because I just remembered that happened. And my collection was _way_ weirder back then. I had a very experimental phase.”

“Auugh,” Usnavi groans, hiding his face against Vanessa’s arm. “Oh god, you poor thing. What did she even do with all of it?”

“I assume she threw everything away rather than making a shrine of obscure dildos for her dead son but it might surprise you to know we’ve never actually discussed it,” Ruben says. “But yeah, if you’re feeling nervous then just remember that nothing you do in front of my mom is ever gonna be worse than the fact that she knows I once owned a sex doll.”

“Fuck meeee stop talking,” Vanessa begs. “Oh my  _god_ , Ruben. I don’t know if I feel better or if I’ll just never feel anything at all apart from secondhand embarrassment ever again.”

“You’re welcome,” Ruben says. “And seriously, it’ll all be fine. There’s literally nothing to stress about.”

***

**January 4th.**

“Cariño, are you stressed about this?” Ruben’s ma asks him gently. “Because you sound like you are.”

“No, Ma, I am  _perfectly calm_ ,” he says, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can pull his sleeves over his hands with so much force he hears a stitch break in the shoulder. “I’m just trying to make sure everything is organised. You’ve got your tickets?”

“It's all digital now, but yes, we are ready. And yes, everyone has packed everything, and yes, we we will remember to go to the bathroom before we leave the house, if that’s your next question. I have taken a plane before.”

It’s not like he wants to be this overbearing. He just can’t help himself. They’re flying out to New York tomorrow and he’s got vicarious pre-travel anxiety. “And you’ll be careful on the plane? If anything seems wrong or if someone tries to come and talk to you, or if _he’s_ there, tell the flight attendant right away, okay? They can have security waiting at the other end, or—"

“I know, sweetheart,” she says, and now she sounds sad instead of exasperated, which is a bummer. Why does he always end up doing this to people? “Try not to think about him. We’ll have a safe journey and we’ll be seeing you so soon, please just try and be excited about that instead.”

“I am excited,” he says, and it’s true, so he lets the excitement run through him brain to fingertips, which he wiggles in front of himself absent-mindedly noting the tingling sensation of it. “I can’t wait for you to see where I live. I mean, it’s way smaller than my last place and it’s definitely falling apart but I like it a lot. And you finally get to meet them! You gotta remember though that Vanessa’s parents are dysfunctional as hell and Usnavi’s an orphan, so maybe don’t bring up anything about their families unless they start it off. And Usnavi gets really babbly when he’s nervous, but Vanessa gets really quiet and sometimes looks like she’s mad even though she isn’t, so if that happens don’t comment on it because it’ll make them both feel even worse, and if—“

“I was raised with manners, you know,” his ma says, amused again so at least there’s that.

“Sorry, Ma,” he says. “This is all really new and it’s kinda getting to me. It’s not like I’ve ever had a partner to introduce to you before.”

“So of course the first time you do you come home with two at once,” she says. “You never do things by halves.”

“I’ve just been waiting for this for so long, and I really want them to feel welcome. They’ve both made me part of their family so I want them to feel like part of mine. It’s important to me.”

“Then it’s important to us, too,” she says. “Don’t you worry about it, cariño. We’ll all get along just fine.”

***

**January 5th.**

“Okay, _now_ I’m shitting it,” Usnavi admits, checking his watch again. Ruben’s gone to pick his family up from the subway station. Vanessa and Usnavi are waiting in his apartment, both of them sitting up very straight and right on the edge of the couch for some reason, like if Ruben’s family walk in unexpectedly to find them lounging they’ll be declared guilty of bad posture and banished from Ruben’s life forever. “I really hope they like us. Do you think I should’ve showered?”

God, he’s hopeless. “You didn’t shower? Usnavi! We’re trying to make a good first impression here.”

“Well, I did yesterday, and I’ve not done anything sweaty since,” he says defensively. “I got a clean shirt on. Do I smell bad?”

“I can’t tell, I’m so used to you smelling bad,” Vanessa says, and he pokes her in the side. “No, you’re good.”

They sit in anticipatory silence for another ten seconds. It feels like a full decade.

“I’ll steal some of Ruben’s deodorant just in case,” Usnavi decides, then vaults over the side of the couch, does a side roll across the floor, and goes to Ruben’s bedroom leaving Vanessa to stew in her own nerves.

Shit, did _she_ remember to put deodorant on? There’d be no reason to forget, it’s too much of a habit. She’s not like Usnavi who frequently malfunctions on his everyday tasks and sometimes forgets to do up his shirt or put toothpaste on his brush (or, one time when he was extra tired, just forgot to pick up his brush at all and stood at the basin squeezing the toothpaste out of the tube and staring mindlessly at it until Vanessa rescued him). But now she’s worrying about it, so she goes to borrow some off Ruben too, and of course the second she steps into the hallway all of Ruben’s family spill through the front door. She freezes, hoping somehow maybe they won't see her.

“Vanessa!” Ruben says, all happy and smiley.

“Um,” she says, intelligently. “Hey.”

His family all gather expectantly for introductions.

“This is my mom Estefanía. And Paola and Mercedes,” Ruben says, pointing in turn. “And this is Vanessa.” 

He sounds so proud when he says her name. God, she has to get her shit together. She manages it at least enough to say “hi, it’s so great to finally meet you” and lean forward with her hand outstretched. Like he said she would, Ruben’s mom pulls her into a hug instead.

“It is _so_ good to meet you, Vanessa,” his mom says as she lets Vanessa go. "Oh, she’s even more beautiful in person, Rubén!"

Thank god she doesn’t have to think of a response to _that_ , because right then Usnavi pokes his head out of Ruben’s bedroom, grinning at all of them. Vanessa finds herself edging slowly behind Ruben like she’s trying to hide while their attention is elsewhere, and forcibly stops herself because she is not that pathetic.

“Hey!” Usnavi says, emerging properly and instantly going in for the hug for all three of Ruben’s family.Ruben’s mom looks overjoyed and returns it enthusiastically, the older girl - Paola? Vanessa’s already forgotten which one is which - accepts a politely brief hug. Mercedes takes a step back as Usnavi approaches, so he just tips his hat at her instead, unphased. “You’re all here! How was your journey? The subway’s a nightmare this time of day, hope you didn’t get _too_ much of that local flavor for your first impression.”

Ruben’s mom laughs, and says, “well, it’s not actually the first time we’ve been here. My mother lives in Rochester, we’ve come on trips to the city with her before.”

“Oh, that’s awesome,” he says. “Means you don’t need the tourist treatment, we can show you the _real_ city. Wait, did I introduce myself?”

“They can probably guess who you are,” Ruben says, laughing too. “Are we gonna go sit down, or just spend the whole night hanging around the hallway?”

He gives Vanessa a quick, knowing look, some kind of radar for social discomfort. Ruben’s not the only one watching her: he takes her hand, and all three pairs of his family members’ eyes immediately zero in like locked missiles.

Vanessa suddenly has the thought: when was the last time Ruben’s family have seen him willingly touch someone who isn’t them? And she remembers too that this is his first real relationship, which means he’s never brought someone home to introduce.

Jeez. Talk about pressure. She instinctively goes to pull her hand away under the observation, feeling like somehow she’s done something wrong, but Ruben holds tighter and leans in very close to whisper “don’t make it weird,” and she can’t help laughing at that.

It’s not too bad at first. The flurry of introductions and the apartment tour and the making of coffee, which of course is Usnavi’s job, but Vanessa stands around next to him pretending to help too, wondering how people manage this shit when there's not someone else on their side of it. And Ruben’s family really are nice - or, at least, his mom is incredibly enthusiastic, and Paola doesn’t talk much but when she does she's got Ruben's familiar friendly, slightly sarcastic edge, and Mercedes looks like she’s having a miserable time so who knows what that’s about. There’s still the awareness, on both sides, that this is First Impressions Time. Vanessa can’t help but feel that hers is lacking. She’s not good at bubbly or bouncy or that high-pitched customer-service kind of pleased-to-meet-you thing. It’s never mattered before but this is like a test she's pretty sure she's failing.

Usnavi and Ruben are both on edge too: Ruben keeps asking everyone if they want drinks or food or if they want the heat turned up or down or— she leans harder against his side, because she can’t exactly sit on his lap or lie on him without that being an odd look but she’s pretty sure he needs some grounding pressure.He leans back into her. Usnavi next to them is almost doing a perfect impression of Usnavi when he’s not nervous, and if she didn’t know him so well she might not be able to pick up the subtle differences between normal manic patter and anxious mile-a-minute monologue, but the leg-bouncing is a major giveaway. Ruben rests his hand over Usnavi’s knee, not hard enough to hold him still but Usnavi stops the frantic movement at his touch.

“So how was Christmas?” Estefanía asks.

Usnavi and Ruben immediately launch off into a quick back-and-forth storytelling mode, and Vanessa chimes in where she can. They cut out details like how Ruben was up at five in the morning because of a nightmare, or how Usnavi cried twice because the only other Christmas day he’s spent anywhere that’s not his old apartment was the one right after his parents died, or how her mom rang her up to say everyone keeps asking why Vanessa didn’t show at Tía Martina’s and it turned into a big argument before Vanessa hung up on her. They still had a good day, and it was _theirs_ , their first Christmas, so they just share the happy parts. Like how they all drank spiced hot chocolate together on the fire escape in the early dawn, and tried to perfect their three-part harmony singing carols while they cooked, and how Ruben got adorably tipsy and kept rolling all the baubles off the tree around the floor. Estefanía fondly says she used to despair of him as a kid - "buy him any amount of wonderful toys and he was always happiest just playing with the Christmas decorations, I don't know why I ever bothered" and Ruben gets all embarrassed every time she brings up any of his childhood stories or quirks, so Vanessa makes sure to remember them for later. Doesn't hurt to have some ammunition.

Christmas conversation turns into comparing holiday traditions in general after a while and now Vanessa’s got nothing to add. Not that she’s never had a good holiday, but tradition is for people with consistency, and that’s not how the García family rolls. When she was very young they’d go to her Abuela’s, except when they didn’t, and now they go to Tia Martina’s except when they don’t. Her mom always tried to make the holidays good, except when she didn’t. Sometimes they’d celebrate Christmas and sometimes Día de los Reyes, but only very rarely could they afford both, and there were a few years where they ended up celebrating neither. There were some good gifts, some good years, some good memories. But traditions, year on year? Not so much, which makes hearing about everyone else’s fond childhood memories still pretty much a huge bummer, no matter how hilarious stories about baby Ruben are. So she’s been half-zoning out for her own sanity and has no idea where the conversation’s actually been at when something Estefanía is saying catches her attention.

“But of course when you three have babies of your own—“ and Vanessa doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence because _Jesus fucking Christ what the fuck?!_  She really hopes her feelings aren’t written all over her face but probably they are, from the way Ruben stands up quickly and says “you guys want more coffee? Vanessa, come help me carry, there’s way more people than I’ve got hands.”

“Sure,” she says, with way too much relief, and once they’re safely in the kitchen she gives him a wide-eyed look. Her heart is actually racing. Oh, this is worst case scenario conversation, and she knew it’d be coming one day, but give a girl some _warning_.

“I know,” he says, without her having to say anything. 

“Babies,” she says, blankly. “Babies. Ruben, your mother just came here for the actual first time ever and started talking about if –  _when_  we all have babies, implied together, implied babies that I grow and birth out of my body and look after forever.  _Baby human children_.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, running both his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even think to tell her not to mention the b-word.”

“Well, yeah, why would you?” she says faintly, leaning against the counter and shaking her own hair out of her face. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re here for keeps, but dude, six months in is way too soon for baby conversations. Hell, I’ve been dating Usnavi two and a half years and it’s still too soon for it with him as well.”

It’s also too soon to say _why_ she’d like to put off that talk as long as possible, although probably that’s obvious: Vanessa already knows what she wants. Or what she _doesn’t_ want, in this case. It’s too soon because while she hopes it’ll be something they can figure out, she knows that kind of thing can be a dealbreaker and Vanessa is not ready for that possibility, not with her boys. It doesn’t seem fair, that it might push them away from her. Not like she chose to not want kids. 

She’s wondered, many times, if it’s because of how she was raised. If she’d had a family like Usnavi’s or Ruben’s, would she be singing a different tune right now?  _Why_ seems irrelevant by this point though: what does it matter what caused it? Doesn't change the fact she just doesn’t have that feeling, never has done. It’s not like she hateskids. They’re just kind of things whose existence she has no beef with but also has zero interest in getting actively involved in, like hockey or space exploration.

Apparently she’ll change her mind when she’s ready, or when she’s pregnant, or when it arrives. Which seems risky: not everyone magically changes their mind about an unwanted kid once it’s out, as Vanessa well knows. Besides, Dani and Abuela Claudia never regretted staying baby-free, but they still have a ton of family and love anyway. Try to argue _that_. 

Except none of the When It’s Yours You’ll Feel Different crowd so far have been related to someone she’s in a serious relationship with, so that’s definitely ramped up the conversational stakes.

“We absolutely don’t have to discuss it now,” Ruben says. “She, um, she has mentioned it once or twice to me, actually, and I don’t even know what I want so I always let it slide because…she seemed so thrilled I was doing something relatively normal like being in a relationship, and normal for her includes having children, at some point.” He looks melancholy. “It was just nice to make sense to her for once, even if it wasn’t really honest. I should’ve headed her off from the first time she said it.”

That’s interesting. Vanessa’s only ever really heard him talk about his mom in positive terms. It’s hard to imagine families that love each other that much having internal conflicts or difficulties but maybe Ruben can’t completely be himself around his mom even though he loves her so much.

“It’s okay,” she says, pulling him towards her by his belt loops. ”It just really caught me off guard. Like, I got answers prepped for that kinda thing but none of them woulda been appropriate to say to your mom.”

“She doesn’t mean anything by it really. It’s her way of saying she accepts the relationship.”

“And will she still accept it even when I don’t pop out all the grandchildren she’s dreaming of?” Vanessa asks before she can stop herself. Ruben seems unbothered. He probably guessed her position on this already.

“She’s not the one dating you, I am,” he says. “But of course she will. I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Vanessa says, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Families are difficult.”

“I know, querida.” He’s been calling them endearments more often recently. It doesn’t quite come out natural sounding, like he’s still testing the words out to see how they fit in his mouth, but she likes it a lot and it makes her feel better right now. “Thank you for being here anyway.”

“Your family are really nice though.”

To be honest she’s been too stressed to actually form much of an opinion on them yet. But she knows how much it means to Ruben for them to get along and sure enough, he relaxes at her words.

“ _You’re_ really nice,” he says. “You fit right in.”

Neither of which feels true, but it’s sweet of him to say it.

***

Families really are difficult. or at least, finding himself at the convergence of two very different parts of his is tripping Ruben up in a way he hadn’t anticipated. 

He doesn’t know which version of himself to be. 

The last time he saw everyone at Thanksgiving he’d been overwhelmed by extended family: his abuela and aunts and uncles and cousins and their partners - just a whole ton of people, and too much of their attention on on Ruben. It was out of affection and enthusiasm and relief, the way they always act when they see him since he came back. That didn’t stop it being way too much and his mom watched him like a particularly anxious hawk the whole time so he ended up backsliding into a comfort zone of no touching, staying quiet. Still a good time, but it’s not the version of himself he’s been growing into.

It’s like stagefright: he knows they’re all watching closely, whether out of suspicion or just a desire to see the happiness he’s told them he feels. It’s hard to relax when he feels like one of his lab rats.There's New York Ruben and Philadelphia Ruben and the two don't quite fit together, and it's much easier when he doesn't have an audience who are expecting him to be one way or the other. He likes being New York Ruben,  he wants his mom to see just how far he’s come and he feels like he’s not showing it properly.

He's trying not to get caught up in it. Vanessa and Usnavi aren't quite being themselves either, obviously, but that kind of makes it worse. He's hoping that after this initial awkwardness things will even out. Definitely in two minds about spending Dia de Los Reyes at the Rosario's tomorrow, because it's just an even bigger audience, but he's trying to just think positive. It's fine. Everyone is good people, there's really nothing to worry about.

“What about the rest of the day?” Paola asks, when he tells them the plan for Saturday.

“Shit—I mean, damn,” he corrects, before Ma can call him out. “I...hadn’t actually planned that much, I was too busy thinking about the evening and you all getting here and…yeah, no idea.”

God, he's not a very good host. He doesn't actually even know anything about Manhattan, outside of what Vanessa and Usnavi have shown him or his train route from home to work. It's not like he goes out taking in the big city on the regular.

“There’s a parade El Museo puts on every year,” Vanessa offers. “I usually go to that.”

“Oh, that could be fun,” Paola says with interest. 

Ruben fidgets. It doesn’t sound fun to him. Loud and crowded and too many people to keep track of. Music and yelling.

“Ah,” Vanessa says, immediately picking up on his restless concern. “That’s fine, honey, we’ll think of something else.”

“What -oh,” Paola says, figuring it out. “Right. That’s okay.”

She sounds a little disappointed, though.

“If you all want to go I can—” he says, then realizes how passive-aggressive that’s gonna sound.

“Rubén, you are not moping around your apartment alone while we all go out,” his mother reprimands him.

“Well, how about me and Vanessa take the girls to the parade, and you two can spend the morning together?” Usnavi suggests. “It’d be a shame for them to miss the opportunity.”

“Works for me,” Paola says brightly.

“Yay,” says Mercedes, in the flattest voice imaginable.

And there’s the other thing that’s stopping this evening from being what it should be: Mercedes is in a serious bad mood, which he can’t figure out. She was as excited as everyone else when he met them from the station, shrieking his name and running straight into his arms. Since they got back to Ruben’s place and met the other two though, it’s like a storm has been descending. She’s been slouching further and further in her chair, playing on her phone, only talking when someone addresses her directly, and especially seems to have some objection to Usnavi, who’s been struggling all night to pull more than one-word answers out of her.

Ruben does _not_ like this.

Usnavi’s leg starts bouncing again. “Uh, I mean, it was just a thought, we don’t have to—“

“That sounds like a great idea. Doesn’t it, Mercedes?” Ruben’s mom says firmly.

“Sure,” Mercedes says, reluctant. “Sounds great. But won’t you two be bored?”

“No. Rubén and I are going to bake,” Ma answers decisively.

“Really?” Ruben says. “That’s all you wanna do? You came all the way here—“

“To see you, which I will be doing,” she finishes. “And we always bake together on Dia de Los Reyes. I missed it last year, cariño.”

“So did I,” Ruben says, wistfully. He’d half-regretted his decision to move when he did just before the holiday, but at the time his whole being was taken up with the need to be out of Philadelphia the very first opportunity. He’d called in on Facetime, of course, but he’d missed the warmth of home in his new sublet apartment, still essentially empty and not at all Ruben’s at that point.

“You'd only just moved here this time last year, right?” Vanessa says. “You didn’t spend it alone, did you?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, of course you did,” she says, sounding resigned. “Ruben.”

“It’s not like I knew anyone! What was I gonna do, just kick in the door to whichever apartment had a recognizable flag hanging outside and say _feliz día de Reyes, when’s dinner?”_

“You knew me, I remember inviting you to the Rosario’s. You didn’t show,” Usnavi points out.

“Usnavi, it was literally the second time I’d ever met you, it took all my effort staying out long enough to buy coffee at that point.” The math clicks into place in Ruben’s head. “Holy crap, wait. Usnavi, that _was_ the second day I came to the bodega. I met you on the 5th! How could I _forget_?”

“That’s today!” Usnavi gasps. “ _Ruben_! Happy anniversary, querido!”

He sweeps Ruben into an enthusiastic - if kind of sideways because of how they’re sitting - kiss and everyone is definitely still watching but this time Ruben doesn’t have the brainspace going spare to care about it. A year to the day, look how much has changed since then.

“A year,” Usnavi murmurs as he pulls away, stroking Ruben’s cheek. “Isn’t that just crazy?”

“Yeah,” Ruben says, breathless. “Pretty crazy.”

Mercedes makes a quiet, disparaging noise and it's like someone cutting a string on the softness that had settled around them both. Usnavi pulls his hand away from Ruben’s face, blushing. The shattered moment hangs uncomfortably heavy in the air.

Vanessa looks between everyone, assessing the silence, and then says “so what day is our anniversary? I'll be mad if you remember Usnavi's and not mine.”

“April 6th,” Ruben answers, thankful for the conversational lifeline, but he could about kill Mercedes. What's her deal? 

It hangs onto him until Vanessa and Usnavi say their goodbyes and head back to Vanessa’s place.  Ruben sees them to the door so he can kiss them unobserved, and gives himself a minute to collect his thoughts before he goes back to the living room and asks, “so?”

“Oh, cariño, I _loved_ them,” Ma says, soft and very sincere. It makes the whole evening worth it.

“I knew you would,” he says. “I knew it. They're so great, right? Vanessa’s not usually that shy, but she thought you wouldn’t like her, which is obviously crazy.”

“Dude,” says Paola. “I’m just amazed anyone that cool talked to us at all.”

“Yeah, I feel like that most days still,” Ruben confesses.

“She's wonderful,” his mom says. “And Usnavi! Such a sweet boy.”

“Usnavi’s _adorable,_ ” Paola agrees, to which Mercedes makes a face. Barely noticeable, but what are siblings for if not to immediately recognize and pounce on that shit?

He turns to face her head-on, crossing his arms and demanding “okay, _what_ is your problem with Usnavi?”

“I don’t have a problem with him,” Mercedes responds instantly, like she was expecting that.

“You’ve been making snide little faces and comments all night, and if I noticed it you can be damn sure he did, so you’d better explain yourself.”

“What, you want me to be wrapped around his finger like he’s already done for you three? Excuse _me_ for being more cautious about the kinda people you hang out with, but I’m not buying the nice guy act that easy again.”

This is something he hadn't missed either. It's hard not to be an older version of himself around family. That includes sibling bickering, and he can't help but take the bait even though he hates arguing.

“And just what the hell does that mean? Because if it’s what I think you’re implying…”

“I’m not implying shit, I’m saying it outright, the one and only time you’ve brought a dude home—“

“Mercedes, you watch your tongue,” Ma says. “Can we please just—“

“I did not _bring_ Ian home, and I’m the only one in this room who wasn’t fooled by that act,” Ruben retorts, and feels bad that all three of them react, Mercedes looking down at the ground and Paola looking away and his ma gasping quietly, but he can’t stop to apologise now. “How _dare_ you compare Usnavi to him? Usnavi’s been nothing but good to me since the day I met him, and if you —“

“Rubén, please calm down,” his ma murmurs.

“Yeah, and your judgement has always been _so_ —“ Mercedes silences herself at a painful-looking nudge from Paola.

“I mean, I’ve known him for an entire year and spent most of my time with him but yeah, I’m so sure this one whole evening you’ve known him gave you plenty of time to figure it all out. Are you forgetting how he nearly got himself killed trying to look out for me last month? Feel free to share with the class where you think that fits into whatever evil plan he has for me, if you’re so much smarter than the rest of us.”

He’s speaking a lot louder than he meant to be, makes sure to take a step back and tuck his hands in his pockets and slouch so he’s not looming over Mercedes - arguing is one thing, but intimidating is another and much worse - but he’s no less angry. She shrugs, still refusing to look at him, her lip wobbling dangerously.

“Rubén!” Ma says, now a sharp warning.

“What?!” he protests. “How am _I_ getting the blame for this? She’s the one who kept making him feel bad.”

“I’m not blaming you, but you _are_ the adult here. We’ve had a long day of travelling, I’m sure she’s just tired—“

“Oh, that’s not condescending at all,” Mercedes grumbles.

“If you choose to act like a child then I will condescend to you as I see fit,” Ma snaps. “We’ve come all this way to visit your brother for the holidays, and Vanessa and Usnavi were both very sweet and very welcoming despite your appalling behaviour. And we are _not_ going to be rude, and we are _not_ going to shout, because if you shout too loudly it will scare the camels away and Dia de Los Reyes will have to be cancelled. Do you understand me?

“Yes, Mom,” Mercedes mutters, chagrined.

“Rubén?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now, both of you need to apologise to the camels.”

Oh, god, he hasn’t had to do _that_ one since he was a kid. 

“Ma, come on, I’m twenty nine y—“

“At this rate the only people celebrating with gifts tomorrow will be Paola and I,” she says loudly.

“Yay, Paola!” Paola cheers, then lifts her hands in surrender when Ruben and Mercedes turn to glare at her. “Hey, don’t look at me, I’m just a bystander. A bystander who’s getting three people’s worth of presents tomorrow, from the sounds of it.”

Ma taps her foot impatiently, but Paola’s broken the tension enough that Ruben quietly mumbles out a “sorry” and Mercedes chimes in with an equally unenthusiastic “yeah, same”.

“You know that’s not good enough,” Ma says.

Ruben shares a look with Mercedes, animosity put aside in favor of uniting over the shared embarrassment of having a mother, and they chorus “lo siento, camellos” loudly.

“That’s better,” says Ma, satisfied.

They leave it at that, but Mercedes barely speaks for the rest of the evening before they go back to their hotel. Ruben feels bad about getting so intense, but he’s not going to apologize more than he already has. He’s not the one in the wrong here. Besides, maybe this way it’ll stick and she’ll realize _before_ Usnavi and Vanessa take them out tomorrow that her suspicions are totally unfounded. He just hopes they didn’t read anything into how she was acting tonight.

***

They ride the train back to Vanessa’s place in a semi-relieved silence at having got through the evening, but eventually Usnavi can’t hold back any longer. “So Mercedes definitely hated me, right?”

Vanessa nods. “Oh, man, yeah, she really _did_. What the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t know! I thought I was just being normal me except dialled back to like seventy percent so I didn’t come on too strong, but I definitely was trying to be _nice_. Did I fuck up?”

“No, honey, you were fine, you were great,” she reassures him. “Probably she’s just tired. Or maybe she does actually hate you, who can tell, but I don’t think it was anything you did specifically.”

“You’re a real comfort.”

“Sorry, but from now on I have to direct all my comforting energies towards my womb to make it a good environment for the horde of tiny García-Marcado-De la Vegas I’m apparently gonna be squeezing out of there.”

“That’s a fucking mouthful of a name. And yeah, you did not look happy about that.”

“You think Ruben’s mom noticed?”

“Only because it was super obvious. I’m pretty sure Ruben only made you go get coffee with him because he was worried your eyes were gonna go so big they’d just —“ he makes a popping noise “—fall right out of your head.”

“Ugh. Do you think we did okay?” she asks. “I can’t believe you signed us up for a whole day babysitting.”

“We tried our best, that’s all we can do,” Usnavi says. “And lighten up, it’s not like they’re actual children, it’ll be fine. I just thought Ruben might like to spend some time with his mom.”

“And you want some time to persuade the kid to like you.”

“That too,” Usnavi says. He’s not used to not being liked. Or at least not for no apparent reason, but Mercedes had been side-eyeing him from the second he stepped out to say hello and hadn’t stopped all night, so he at least wants to know why.

The rest of the journey passes in silence and as they get off at the stop nearest Vanessa’s apartment - though it’s kinda Usnavi’s apartment too temporarily, isn’t it? That’s gonna take some getting used to - she says, “did you spend the entire evening thinking about the sex doll thing too?”

“Oh my god, it was _all_ I could think about,” Usnavi says.

***

**January 6th.**

There’s a little delay when Vanessa and Usnavi arrive to pick the girls up the next morning, while they open presents from his mom. Ruben had already opened his that morning - a sweater, of course, in his favorite deep blue, socks, a few sci-fi novels and some nice coloring pencils and high-quality sketch paper. It's been a long time since he's sat down to do any drawing, and he's not even that great at it, but Ma likes to encourage his hobbies because she still worries he works too much. Ruben hadn’t realised she was gonna get presents for the other two till she pulled out two more shoeboxes from the giant bag of gifts she brought and said with a wry smile "well, I don't know how these got under my bed, but they've got your names on, so...".  It's only small gifts, perfume for Vanessa and a little bag of nice coffee for Usnavi and chocolate for both of them, and they both sounded so grateful and look so touched that it makes Ruben’s heart burn with love for them.

After that, though, he manages to get them on their own in the kitchen to say that if they don’t want to take the girls to the parade, they’ll all understand.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Usnavi says.

“Don’t answer that,” Vanessa adds quickly. “I’m sure whatever you think of would be terrible but we got this. Have a good day baking with your mom and we’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Okay,” he says. “It’s really nice of you to do this for us. I’m sorry yesterday wasn’t great.”

“It’s fine, but there’ll be hell to pay if you don’t have that food waiting on the table for us when we get home,” Vanessa tells him.

“I’ll be the best 1950s housewife you ever had,” Ruben promises.

“Nice. You gonna have a cute little flowery apron and curlers in your hair?” Usnavi says.

“You have the weirdest kinks.”

Usnavi starts to object “okay, first of all—“ but Ruben shuts him up with a kiss, which turns into two, which turns into making out while Vanessa threads her fingers through Ruben’s hair, pulling softly.

“Oh! Lo siento,  I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

Usnavi makes a ridiculous _meep_ sound. Vanessa snatches her hand away fast. Ruben sneaks a quick glance and they’ve both gone bright red. Ruben’s mom is in the doorway with one hand theatrically covering her eyes.

“You weren’t,” Ruben assures her. Like they’d do anything in the kitchen with his whole family in the living room.

“Because if you three need a minute—“

“Ma, please,” Ruben says, mortified. She peeks through her fingers as though checking they’re decent before she takes her hand away. Vanessa starts giggling beside him.

“I was just wondering what time you needed to leave.”

Usnavi checks his watch. “We should head off now actually, if we don’t wanna miss the start.”

They head off in a tangle of hugs and noise and _hurry it up_ s, and Ma says “we should go too, Ruben, we’ve got a lot of work to do this morning.”

Ah, yes. Time to stock up on baking supplies.

It’s still strange getting used to going to a new store. He points out Usnavi’s bodega as they pass by: the new owners haven’t opened whatever its gonna be yet, so the sign still reads De la Vega Bodega and the grate is still pulled down. He’s relieved every time he sees it hasn’t been cleaned of its graffiti yet, so he doesn’t have to pass that bad news on to Usnavi. Today there’s a small group of candles beside the mural, safely tucked away from careless feet, protected from the bitter wind by the glass jars all shapes and sizes that contain them.

A year and a day since the first time he was there. Ruben gets a sudden longing to just go inside and get coffee, to sit on the counter listening to Usnavi and Vanessa fondly bickering with each other. No wonder Usnavi didn’t want to live in the apartment once the store was gone, having to walk past this every day. Nostalgia aches, even after only a year of knowing somewhere.

After they pick up everything they need at not-Usnavi’s-store, Ruben makes sure to buy the only bunch of overpriced flowers left, and lays them near the candles by the grate on the way back.

It’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of old habits with his mom in the kitchen. He lays all the ingredients out in a row along the counter, in the order he’ll be using them for ease of access, while his ma tells him about this tip or that trick that her mamá or her abuela or the lady who lived next door taught her when she was a little girl. Ruben already knows, but it’s part of the process.

Ruben loves baking. It’s very rare there’s knives involved, which made it a good way for him to get back in the kitchen when he was dealing with his post-Jamaica eating problems, and the whole process of measuring and adjusting and checking everything is kind of like the lab but without the life-threatening stakes. This is something he’d always do with his mom for every holiday. He really did miss it last year.

Plus, having something to keep his hands occupied has always made it a lot easier to talk to his mom about things he’d rather not talk about. Once they’ve got stuck in properly, he blurts out one of the many things on his mind.

“The baby thing,” he says. “It wasn’t, uh, that’s not something that we’ve even considered, actually. Babies. And the having of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I made things awkward, mijo, I just assumed with how serious you three are you’d have talked about it by now.”

“Yeah, we’re serious, but I’ve not been with them very long.”

“It’s never too soon to start thinking about your future,” she says.

Ruben actually finds that thinking too far into the future is kind of terror-inducing. He’s only just getting used to the idea that he has one. And all that about best laid plans, et cetera, which he knows firsthand to be so very goddamn true. “It’s definitely not time to talk about that, though. And. Uh. Kids aren’t always the goal?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know that fatherhood is where my life’s headed. Ever. Pretty sure Vanessa doesn’t want children either. I don’t know about Usnavi.”

“Well, you’re all still so young to decide these things, you shouldn’t—“

“You just said it wasn’t too soon to think about our future,” he interrupts, as non-accusatory as possible. “And I’m almost thirty. It’s a little patronizing to say we’re too young just because now you don’t approve of our potential decision.”

“I’m not trying to be patronizing, cariño. I just…” she sighs. “I don’t want you to feel like who you are or how you think or what happened to you should hold you back from getting the things you want. And if Vanessa has only decided she doesn’t want children because of her family problems, perhaps this is true for her too.”

“That’s an oversimplification, and if Vanessa decides something it’s because she’s damn certain about it. You can think what you want, but I’m asking you to please not bring it up again. I gotta trust that her feelings are real like she does with mine. It’s how we work. It’s _why_ we work.” He takes a deep breath and says, “sometimes I think you worry so much about me that you don’t actually trust me with my own life,” then immediately busies himself kneading dough instead of looking at her.

“Perhaps sometimes I don’t,” she says eventually. “You never were as happy as you deserve, even since you were a child. Sometimes I worry that you never will be. That you won’t let yourself be.”

”I know you want me to have a good life. I need you to know I can have that without having the things that make  _your_  life good, even if what I do want is strange to you.”

“Of course. But it’s my god-given right as your mother to worry about you, I would no matter what. I don’t mean for it to make you feel…I don’t know. Like you aren’t normal.”

“But I’m _not_ normal,” he says, and waves off her disagreement. “It’s okay. I don’t mind, I really don’t. I’ve got an amazing girlfriend and a wonderful boyfriend, and they’re not normal and neither is our relationship, and I’m happy with them, Mamá, I’m _so_ happy. And I’m making food with my ma for everyone I love to share later. Life’s not so bad.”

“My Rubén,” Ma says, so much pride that it feels like something cracking open inside him. “Oh, mijo.”

She hugs him, even though he’s all covered in flour and dough, and he lets himself relax: of course it wasn’t going to be a big fight, but he sometimes wishes he only ever had positive things to say to her. Then she pulls away wiping her eyes and picks up a wooden spoon to tap him gently on the back of his hand, saying “those buñuelos aren’t going to make themselves, what are you waiting around for?”

***

The parade is beautiful, as always, Vanessa revels in the happy chaos. It’s days like this she’s most glad to live in the city: her immediate family might be a mess, but at least she still has a way to enjoy a bigger kind of tradition. It makes it feel like the streets are for her. Familiar beats and deep saturated colors, kids all wrapped up in winter clothes wearing the paper crowns that remind her of sitting on the floor at Nina’s place years ago, the two of them carefully cutting and pasting and coloring their own crowns, making sure they matched enough so that everyone knew just from looking that they were best friends.

Paola is wide-eyed taking it all in, and so is Usnavi even though he sees this every year. Mercedes still seems bummed out, trailing behind them, but the atmosphere is so intoxicating that Vanessa’s too caught up in it to think about that. 

“Mercedes,” Paola says suddenly, glancing around and sounding panicked. Vanessa’s heart stops a moment when she realises Mercedes isn’t where she was before - okay, she’s not a child, but it’s a big dangerous city to be a stranger in, and imagine telling Ruben and his mom that they lost his sister somewhere in New York - before she realises she’s still behind them, just several feet rather than a few steps away. 

Paola breathes a sigh of relief and shouts “Mercedes! Come on!”, motioning her over. Mercedes slows her pace even more.

“Did we do something?” Usnavi asks.

“No,” Paola says. “She always does stuff like this when we’re out with mom too. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe she just wants to see if anyone realizes she’s gone,” Vanessa suggests.

Usnavi squeezes her hand and when she looks at him he looks like a puppy that’s been left outside in the rain. She squeezes back reassuringly, knowing exactly why he’s got that look, but it’s been a long time since she walked home in that blackout alone. Some part of her still gets sad over it if she thinks too hard about it, but she’s long since forgiven Usnavi for it, which is why she won’t tell him that she finds it kind of comforting that he still sometimes gets all apologetic and regretful about it.

“Mom freaks out if we’re ten minutes late home from school,” Paola says. “Not much chance of it going unnoticed. Mercedes, get _over_ here!”

Mercedes comes to a complete standstill.

“Oh, for—“ Paola starts towards her with an aggrieved sigh, but Usnavi stops her.

“Let me talk to her?” he asks, with that look that means he’s going to Usnavi the hell out of this situation. Paola gives him a close stare like she’s trying to figure him out then makes a _fine, you deal with_ it gesture.

“We’ll wait over there,” Vanessa says, pointing, and they make their way over to lean against the wall of a nearby store while Usnavi nimbly weaves upstream against the crowd to where Mercedes is still standing, pointedly staring at the oversized puppets now passing her by and pretending she doesn’t notice him.

Paola sighs heavily. Vanessa realizes she’s on her own in making conversation.

Okay. This isn’t hard. Vanessa’s good at talking to new people, it doesn’t make any difference that it’s Ruben’s sister, except that Vanessa feels this undeniable need to impress her and has no idea how, so she’s just gonna carry on not saying anything for a second while she thinks it over.

So far, from what she can tell, Paola is quiet. Not in the obvious, angry way Mercedes has been so Vanessa can’t work out if it’s shyness or disinterest or thoughtfulness. Maybe she’s just better at hiding her distaste than her younger sister. Vanessa doesn’t think that’s it, though. Paola seems like Ruben, or more accurately what Vanessa guesses Ruben might have been once upon a time: something that’s not as wispy and ethereal as _shyness_ sounds, but still reserved in some way that’s hard to pinpoint. Usnavi might know the perfect word for it, if she asks, but _quiet_ is all Vanessa can come up with.

Paola watches the parade and her sister with a paranoia rhythm: towards the action for about ten seconds, then glances to make sure Mercedes is still there, then back to the passing marchers. Vanessa finds herself doing same, and it’s not long before she looks at Usnavi to find him waving for her attention and yelling, despite being clearly too far away for her to hear him over the music.

“What,” she shouts back, with an exaggerated shrug.

He yells again, inaudible, doing some kind of complicated pantomime with his arms. Vanessa holds her phone up in the air and he points at her with both hands like _yes, good idea_ , then takes his own phone out.

“Dumbass,” she mutters affectionately, shaking her head.

**  
** “Usnavi’s gonna have a chat with her,” Vanessa explains to Paola, who gives one last searching glance to see which direction they leave in, then nods.

“I don’t know why she’s being such a brat this weekend,” Paola says. “This is supposed to be for Ruben and she’s ruining it for everyone.”

Vanessa shrugs.

“She’s been like that since I sent off my college applications,” Paola explains. “She thinks I’m selfish for going.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa says, neutrally. She didn’t come prepared with sage advice. It mostly sounds like Paola’s just thinking aloud, though. “And what do you think?”

“What I think is…I don’t think it’s so bad of me to want to start actually living again,” Paola says. “But Mercedes is always mad at everything, and I know Mom would rather we all live at home forever and it makes her all uptight, and Ruben’s here, so I’m the one who has to keep everyone chill at home, which I can’t do if I leave. So. I dunno.”

Ugh. Okay so maybe she does have sage advice for this particular situation, actually, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about having to give it. Fucking Marcados. Once upon a time Vanessa was getting through life on easy street and then along comes Ruben and it’s big feelings conversations out the ass all the live-long day, which is crazy considering how fucking awkward he can get about his own emotions, and apparently the rest of them are all just as bad. Though pinning all the blame on Ruben is letting Usnavi off the hook, when _he’s_ the one who paved the way for all this to come barging into Vanessa’s life in the first place, with his eight people’s worth of emotions stuffed haphazardly inside his small frame.

_It’s not too late to just be the weird aunt who lives in eternal spinsterhood in Nina’s attic_ , she tells herself, but she’s attached to the boys now, and Ruben would want her to help his sister out, and anyway she kinda feels for the kid, so here she is.

“You’re too young to have to worry about keeping a family together,” she tells Paola. “Sometimes it’s just time to do your own thing. I think you’re all close enough that you’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not like I wanna leave them,” Paola says. “I just wish I could live both lives. Or three, maybe: one with mom and Mercedes, and one at college, and one near Ruben.”

“Yeah, I hear that. But if someone cares about you, they won’t ask you to give up the things you want. Not the important things, anyway. Your brother knew he needed to leave Philadelphia even though you’d probably all rather he didn’t, and you learnt to cope with that, right? You didn’t guilt him into staying.”

“He needs control of his own life,” Paola says. “I know that. I wouldn’t take it away from him.”

“We all need that. You included. Your mom will understand.”

“Mercedes won’t. It’s like I’ve told her I’m changing my name and never calling her again.”

Boy, does Vanessa know that one, too.

“Mercedes is fifteen years old, you telling me you don’t remember how everything is the worst thing ever when you’re fifteen? It’s a shitty age to be stuck at.”

“That’s very true,” Paola says with a shudder. “Couldn’t pay me to go back.”

“Couldn’t pay me to go back to eighteen either,” Vanessa says. “And not only ‘cause it was hell trying to get into clubs back then.”

“Does it get any easier? Not the clubs, I mean, the adulthood.”

“I don’t know about easier,” Vanessa says honestly. “Not always. But at least you’re the one in charge of it. And if it sucks you can go somewhere to dance it off without having to try and score a fake ID, so there’s always that.”

“There is always that,” Paola agrees, and then she laughs. “Hey, welcome to the fucking family, I guess. You must be so done with all our issues.”

It’s nearly what Vanessa was thinking, but phrased that way it sounds very different, like Vanessa isn’t secretly kind of honored that somehow she’s been let in on this whole private giant thing even though she has no idea how to approach it. It’s all part of the Ruben deal, anyway, and she wouldn’t give that up for anything.

“Eh, Ruben puts up with my shit enough, it balances out. Come on, we’re missing everything, let’s go back in and they can catch us up. Usnavi will look after your sister.”

“Hm,” Paola grumbles. “If she even listens to him. I don’t get why she’s being this way, _I_ really like him. And you, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Usnavi knows how to win over even the stubbornest hearts,” Vanessa says, deciding to ignore the last bit because she doesn’t know how to react to it. “Trust me on that one.”

***

Alright. He’s got one unhappy kid here, time for Usnavi to save — well, it’s not Christmas, but _time to save Dia de Los Reyes_ doesn’t have the same bounce to it, so he’ll have to think about that one. Mission title aside, though, Usnavi’s on the case. He’s not actually got a plan, but he never does anyway.

“Hey,” is his winner of an opener when he gets to Mercedes, who’s hanging back and towards the edge of the movement where the crowd is thinner, but they’re still both getting bumped around standing still in the middle of foot traffic.

Mercedes gives him an unreadable look then hugs her arms around herself, looking away. “Hey.”

“You’re missing the parade,” he says.

“Parade’s here too.”

“It’s not as fun watching it on your own though. Come walk with us?”

“I’d rather not,” she says.

“Then I guess we’re both staying here.” Usnavi watches her out the corner of his eye, and his mouth says of its own accord, “why don’t you like me?”

“What?” she says, unconvincingly. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

“I can read between lines when they’re like billboard size,” he says. A man trying to push past them stumbles: Usnavi puts an arm out to stop him falling against Mercedes. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you this mad at me. I ain’t saying you have to like me, but this is gonna be uncomfortable for everyone if I can’t at least pretend not to notice, and I can’t do that if I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you. You don’t seem to have the same problem with Vanessa. Will you just tell me?”

“I don’t not like you,” she says. “I…Jesus, can we talk somewhere I’m not being elbowed in the head every five seconds?”

“It’ll be quieter down the side streets,” he says. “Hold up, let me tell Vanessa where we’re going.”

It takes a minute to get that message across but once he remembers phones are and have been a thing for quite a while, idiot, Usnavi and Mercedes go down a side street. It’s still kinda busy, people headed off to follow the parade which still rumbles on loud in the background or just going about their day-to-day, but it’s quiet enough they can sit down on the curb without getting trampled.

“So what’s the deal?”

Mercedes pokes her finger through a tiny hole in the knee of her jeans, pulling at the loose threads so it gets bigger. “Can you tell me why I should trust you with Ruben? Like, honest question, can you give me a good reason?”

Is there supposed to be a right answer for that? “Uh. I…don’t know. Um, Ruben trusts me with himself?”

“If I say that’s not enough?”

“That’s really all I got,” he says helplessly. “I mean, if you don’t trust me anyway you got no reason to believe anything I say, so what difference would it make trying to argue?”

“Really, that’s it?” she frowns. “No _I_ ’ _m a good guy, I swear?_ Not gonna play the _I_ _got beat up for him_ card like Ruben did?”

“Seems kinda cheap to play it for myself,” he says. “To be honest, I’d prefer to forget that one’s in my hand.”

“He was in your store,” Mercedes says softly, and it takes Usnavi a minute to figure out she means Jason. 

“Yeah,” he answers, trapping his hands between his knees so he can resist the urge to rub at his throat.

“He came to our house once,” she says. “The other guy, I mean, but same difference, right?”

Usnavi has to do some quick mental shuffling to place the events - right, Ruben said Ian had shown up for dinner the night he dragged him out to that rave thing.

Mercedes scuffs her sneaker into the ground and continues, “Ruben was real moody for the whole thing and we all thought he was just being Ruben, sometimes he’s like that. After they left together we all talked about how nice it was that Ruben finally had a friend, and how cool he seemed, and how funny Ruben was for wanting to stay in all night like he always does. And then we didn’t hear from him again until he called Mom from the airport.”

Oh. That’s a hell of a thing for a kid to have on her shoulders. The implicit comparison still hurts. “I’m not like Ian. Or Jason.”

“That’s what Ruben and Mom said.” She looks uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I was rude to you yesterday. I really am. I don’t _wanna_ think you’re like them, but the last time some guy came round with the charm turned all the way up, we all fell for it and it could’ve been the last time I ever saw my brother so I can’t— I just can’t. Vanessa seems real, but I can’t work out what’s real about you and what’s just a show to try and make us like you. I don’t like that.”

Well, he did ask for the truth, but it’s a goddamn weird one. Usnavi’s never been accused of being fake before. Hell, Vanessa sometimes accuses him of not being fake enough. Learning how to just make shit up is a necessary disguise, she says, like wearing clothes. Everyone knows what’s under there, but pretending they don’t is how society keeps itself rolling. _I don’t like wearing clothes either,_ he’d answered, and she’d said _yeah, but I don’t ever see you selling coffee with your balls out, so I know you see the value of it,_ which is a point.

“All a hundred percent genuine me,” he says, and Mercedes makes a dismissive gesture. “Fair enough, I guess. If that’s your reason I can forgive _that_.”

“What, as easy as that?”

“Yeah, as easy as that. I’d be wary too. I get it.”

“How could you possibly get it?” she says, bitterly.

“’Cause I know what it’s like to not recognise warning signs and lose family because of it,” he says, sounding colder than he meant to. 

“Shit,” she says, blushing with horrified embarrassment. “Oh my god, I totally forgot, Ruben told us not to— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Usnavi says. “It ain’t your problem.”

“This isn’t the same as your, your thing, though,” she says. “Ruben came back, and he’s got a whole life now. How come I’m the only one who’s still stuck? Everyone else is moving on but I don’t know how to.” Her voice rises from sullenly serious to the tight pitchiness of tears. “Ruben came here and Paola’s going to college and Mom’s talking about moving too. And Dad keeps just acting like nothing happened whenever we go stay with him, ’cause it’s not as if Ruben’s his kid, so what can he do about it? But it’s still all I can think about and it’s been nearly two years, and my friends are being weird too. They understood more when we thought he was dead, but then he came home so it’s like, it’s like—“

“Like they all expect you to go back to how you used to be again,” Usnavi finishes. “Like they don’t realise you’re gonna be different forever now.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that’s it.” 

He doesn’t know what to tell her. He’s not in the best place right now to say it all gets better, even though he knows it does. But it gets better cyclically, the bad stuff sometimes coming back round again, sometimes feeling like it never went away, and he doesn’t know if that would be comforting.

“If your mom is thinking about moving, that means you get a fresh start too,” he points out.

“Great. So instead of all the people at school remembering how I used to be and not liking the new me, I can just skip straight to the people not liking the new me,” she sighs. “I know moving isn’t gonna make everything better. How am I supposed to care about dumb stuff like who’s got a crush on who or if I’ve done my homework? It’s all so _small_. I don’t know how to care about it, and I don’t want to just be the sad girl.”

“That doesn’t have to be all you are,” Usnavi says, with a de ja vu he can’t quite place. “Look, I didn’t even know Ruben when it happened, and I have genuine goddamn nightmares about what he’s told me. So does he, so does Vanessa. Trust me, you’re not the only one who’s still feeling the impact, it’s okay to be struggling with it. And after what happened to your family it’s not surprising if its hard to find stuff in common with your friends.”

“So what, I’m just doomed to not have friends at all until I either magically get over it or find someone else who’s brother got tortured so we can bond? Awesome.”

The hole in her jeans is basically the entire knee now. Usnavi resists the urge to tell her to _stop picking at it do you know how expensive new jeans are_. She’s not Sonny, he’s got no authority here.

“Not exactly what I meant, no,” Usnavi says. He feels ancient right about now. “I’m just saying that when you do find people who get you you’ll be even closer to them ‘cause it’s special. And I’ll tell you what me and your brother and Vanessa all know, which is that happy don’t happen by magic. You drag yourself out of the bad thing and you keep doing it every time until it sticks, and then even if the problem is still there it at least stops being everything.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Sometimes. But you meet some interesting people along the way, you find things that make it worthwhile. And a lot of that is the stuff that seems small and dumb right now. Only one destination on this ride, kid, make the journey count.”

Okay, and now Usnavi’s definitely done with this conversation, starting to feel things he’s been able to keep at bay while he’s been busy pulling too insistently at him again, so he stands up and holds out a hand to Mercedes, saying, “we could start by going to the parade and having a good day today. You don’t wanna let Vanessa and Paola have all the fun, do you?”

Mercedes stays sitting, her ripped jeans abandoned in favor of chewing on the cuff of her sleeve like Ruben does. “Do you think Ruben will still be mad at me for being such a bitch to you? He was really angry yesterday.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Do you think it’d help if we took a bunch of dumb photos together and I’ll buy tamales for everyone?”

“I don’t see how that would help,” she says doubtfully. “But I do like tamales, so I guess we can try. Are you _actually_ this nice?”

“Yup,” he says, and when he offers his hand again to help pull her up, she takes it.

***

“Oh, it looks wonderful,” Ma coos as Usnavi scrolls through his phone showing her the photos.

“Did they both behave themselves?” Ruben asks, pointing mock-sternly at both of his sisters and trying to hide the genuine concern in the question. He doesn’t miss the quick glance Mercedes gives Usnavi, who breezily answers “sure did.” 

Mercedes smiles a little tentatively at him. Ruben breathes an internal sigh of relief: that’s resolved, apparently, whatever happened.

“Vanessa didn’t,” Paola informs him.

“Look, if people shove me I’m gonna shove them back,” Vanessa says indignantly. “It’s the New York way, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Vanessa, you’ve let yourself and the entire city down,“ Ruben tells her.

“ _I_ never shoved anybody,” Usnavi says.

“Well done,” Ruben says, patting him on the head. “You have earned buñuelos.”

“We already ate a bunch of stuff we were out anyway,” Vanessa huffs, pouting.

“Oh, so you don’t want any?”

“I never said that.” She sits on the arm of the couch and tucks her feet under Ruben’s thigh to keep them warm. “What’s the plan tonight?”

“Rosario’s,” Usnavi says, helpfully. “Food will happen.”

“I meant timewise, I need to go get a bottle of wine or something to take round with us. You wanna go in on one with me or have you got something?”

“I’m on café duty for the night,” Usnavi says, sounding delighted about being back in his element. “Other than that I was just gonna freeload off the Marcado family bakery and pretend it was a group effort.”

“Feel free if you wanna, we made enough to feed half the neighborhood. They said to go round at about six, we’re eating at half past. They’re definitely fine with me bringing everyone, right?” Ruben asks anxiously. “They’re not just being polite? I tried texting Camila but she just got annoyed and told me if the first three times she said yes weren’t enough she didn’t know what would convince me short of hiring a skywriter.”

“Are you kidding, she’ll be over the moon,” Vanessa says. “Camila loves hosting.“

“Ah yes, Camila,” says Ma. “I’ve been wondering whether I should see her as competition or just thank her for making sure Ruben actually eats a decent meal once in a while. Speaking of which, I’m sure you’ve lost weight, you _are_ looking after yourself, aren’t you, mijo?”

“I’ve put on four pounds since Thanksgiving.”

“Hmmm,” she says, disbelieving, and in an aside to Vanessa and Usnavi, “I must make sure to share some of his favorite recipes with you.”

“I do actually cook for myself,” Ruben says, while Vanessa and Usnavi both nod very seriously, smirking. “You make it sound like I have to forage in trash cans for scraps until someone comes to feed me like I’m some kind of stray animal.”

“I always assumed that’s how you three met, to be honest,” Paola says.

“Basically it is, if you switch out food for coffee and trash can for bodega,” Vanessa says. “Pretty sure Usnavi only kept him ‘cause Sonny’s allergic to cats so he’s never been able to have a real one inside the store.”

“Best bodega cat in the whole city,” Usnavi says, scratching him under the chin. Ruben instinctively closes his eyes and tips his head up to allow better access before realising that’s exactly what a cat would do and stopping himself to avoid mockery. It doesn’t work because they’re already laughing at him but he doesn’t mind.

A feeling that might be happiness or might be melancholy: he’s either thinking about how wonderful it is that his family are all here, his sisters laughing with Vanessa, his mom chatting in Spanish to Usnavi, or he’s thinking about how his family fly back to Philadelphia on Tuesday, and Vanessa will be gone by this time next week. It’s such a small window of absolute contentment.

And here he is zoning out and getting bittersweet about it instead of staying in the room to appreciate it while it lasts. _Pay attention:_ for this very short moment, everyone is here, everything is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n: i would like to point out for those readers i have who dont watch Do No Harm, the fact that ruben is some kind of sex toy expert and at least expressed a deep interest in owning a sex doll is CANON and not something i just made up. i just feel like it's very important that you all know this.]


	3. Chapter 3

**January 7.**  
  
Ruben’s life in New York avoids the busier streets, the tourist traps and the big business areas. Ruben’s life in New York makes smaller cities inside the whole as though he designed it full of hideaways just for him, blueprint mapped out of the quieter, safer spaces in parks and in their homes and in his office at work. It’s doing well for him.

It is also an incredibly boring basis for a vacation, he’s pretty sure. Not exactly a whirlwind tour of big city glamor. But they’re here to see _his_ life, they keep saying, so he shows them his apartment and the barrio. They’ll be meeting up with Usnavi and Vanessa at the park later. First, though, Ruben’s taking his mom and sisters to the college so they can see where he works. All these routes have become so familiar that even though Ruben’s kind of a shut-in hecan still pick out a hundred personal landmarks along the way, pointing at various places to tell them this thing happened here, this moment happened here. It’s not exciting _,_ but he delights in having so many good memories to share with them for maybe the first time in his life.

His mom came to see the lab at IMH once, when he was promoted from tech to having his own private-ish workspace. That past version of himself probably wouldn’t have have bothered bringing his family to BMCC, wouldn’t have seen anything to be proud of here. It’s not a state of the art lab bustling with activity seven days a week, its not a promotion into a glass-walled room of his own full of equipment which his mother examined with an impressed but baffled expression.

Been there, done that. This is just a standard office, small and shabby, could belong to any professor in any college in any state except for the personal touches. The ridiculous mug a few of his students got him for Christmas that he’s currently using to hold his pens. Fidget toys dotted around, some his own and a couple from Abigail who he shares an office with, little things she finds in dollar stores that she thinks he might enjoy after she caught him fiddling around with a stress ball once. And Abi herself is there working on something, slouched back in her chair with her feet on the desk and her computer keyboard in her lap, typing furiously.

“Hello, trouble,” she says like she always does, smiling over her shoulder at him, then noticing he’s not alone. “Oh! We got company. Hi.”

“This is my family,” Ruben says, notes the faint surprise on Abi’s face as he introduces them all: he doesn’t usually let his home life get anywhere near his work life. Just in case, and also because he enjoys her continual guesses at his mysterious past. She always ignores the actual story in favor of her own ideas, and recently has been elaborating on an extended theory that he’s some kind of undercover Mulder-type FBI agent investigating the weird occurrences at the college for signs of alien activity.  
  
(“What weird occurrences?” he’d asked when she first pitched it to him.  
  
“You ever met Arnie over in the English department?” she’d answered.  
  
“Oh, good point.”)

"So what inspired you to come here of all places?" Abi asks. "New York's got better attractions than our office, bud."

“Just a fly-by visit,” he says. “Showing them where the magic happens.”

“Are you amazed and astounded yet?” she asks his family, spinning one full rotation in her chair with her arms outstretched to indicate the whole cramped space. “He’ll be off to bigger and better things in no time, don’t worry about that. This one’s going places.”

“I think you’re just trying to get rid of me so you can have the office to yourself again.”

“Obviously,” she says, standing and packing some papers haphazardly into her satchel. “But come on, Ruben, we all know this is only a pitstop for you. Remember me when you’re winning all those Nobel Prizes, yeah?”

“That’s not happening any time soon, Abi,” he says with a laugh that aches just a tiny bit. She always says stuff like that. In another universe, maybe.

“I give it a month,” Abi says confidingly to Ruben’s ma, who nods as though she’s agreeing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ruben. Other Marcados, fantastic to know you exist, enjoy the rest of your trip.”

She tips an invisible cap at them as they chorus their goodbyes, and swirls out of the room with her long cardigan flaring out behind her like a cape.

“She seems nice,” Ma says.

“We get on well,” Ruben says, because _nice_ isn’t exactly accurate. Abi’s turned into a grouchy old woman a few decades before she’s due it, itching for more than BMCC can offer her but not quite driven enough to actually do anything about it. She’s abrasive, pessimistic in a dryly ironic way which can sometimes be draining. But she’s never deliberately cruel, and she’s decided that it’s her duty as office-buddy to keep an eye out for Ruben, and if she has a homicidal alternate personality then she has the decency to keep it it out of the workplace, so there’s definitely worse people to share a space with.

He resolutely doesn’t think about whether she’s right. Not about the Nobel Prize, that’s a dream he’s pretty sure is out of reach by now, but about moving on so soon after settling in here. Going back to work in any capacity after so long off was a strange transition when he first started. Talk about the first day jitters: he’s had his share but never quite like walking into a room full of new coworkers who all turned to stare at him with knowing eyes, like stepping up to the stand in court. He got used to it. There’s people he’s learned to avoid, there’s people he knows talk about him behind his back in that pitying-fascinated way, there’s things about Ruben that aren’t quite secrets but he hoards and hides them as though they are: the locks he installed on his desk drawers, no photos of his family on the desk, no desktop wallpaper on his computer. The illusion of anonymity even though everyone knows he’s here just like everyone knows where he came from, like everyone knows what’s under his sleeves. It’s a fact of life he’s learning to accept.

In spite of all that, he likes it here. He likes that if someone asks something too close, he can just say _my last job_ and they all know what that means and generally they let it lie. He likes sharing an office with Abi who is aggressively on his side on the occasions that people _don’t_ let it lie (“it’s really nothing,” he’d said after he accidentally let slip that there were a few staff members a little too interested in his past that were wearing on him. Abi had narrowed her eyes and said “we’ll just see about that”, and Ruben has no idea what she did but nobody has bothered him directly about it since). He likes that he’s good at his job, that he feels important in a totally different way to how he did at IMH.

Theres a whole life here that Jason hasn’t managed to ruin even though he tried. Ruben didn’t run back to him this time, and he won’t run away again. He’s not going anywhere until he’s ready.

“So?” he asks and he can’t keep the smile out of his voice.

“It’s cute,” Paola says, “but I’m still not coming to college here.”

“Your loss,” Ruben says. “Think of all that nepotism you’re missing out on.”

“I like your desk toys,” Mercedes says, picking up the liquid hourglass from his desk and watching the blue bubbles drip down hypnotically. “Really got those Serious Professor vibes.”

“It suits you,” his mom tells him. “It really does.”

 

***

It’s an overcast and miserable-looking day, the sky a flat gray nothing of indifferent weather conditions, but it doesn’t take away from Vanessa feeling pretty damn good about walking round Bennett Park with Usnavi while they wait for Ruben and his family to show. Maybe because things feel very different from the last time the two of them had a park walk together, when Usnavi was barely Usnavi.  He’s been coming here almost every day even now he’s moved downtown with her. One of Ruben’s prescribed tasks to keep him on a positive trajectory, and Usnavi’s embraced this one wholeheartedly: once he finds a routine he’s happy with he sticks with it like glue, and apparently he’s discovered he really likes taking long walks, further confirming Vanessa’s suspicion that he’s at least part puppy. 

Mostly she’s just relieved to see him getting out of the apartment. He’s not fixed, but he’s definitely himself, got a not-quite-a-smile of contentment on his face, keeps humming softly the way he does when he’s not paying attention to anything specific. It’s infectious. Vanessa hums along too, and Usnavi wiggles his fingers where they’re linked with hers in happy acknowledgement.

It’s easy to borrow from his good mood even when the Marcados show, and Vanessa feels less out of place now among the chatter, talking about some of the stories from growing up here - not so much the ones about playing hooky with the stoners in high school, but from easier, earlier days when parks were just for playing in with friends rather than escaping from life. They’ve heard a bunch about Ruben’s childhood so it seems only fair to share anecdotes from Usnavi’s ("remember that time you tried to be a goth and wore a dog collar and eyeliner for like two weeks?"). He matches her story for story with dumb things Vanessa did as a kid (“remember how you wanted to be a cool skater girl but you never learned to skate so you’d just walk around here carrying a board all the time and you got super-mad at me for blowing your cover and told me you’d never speak to me again?”).

“You were both ridiculous,” Ruben says lovingly, clearly enjoying their self-inflicted karma for all the teasing he’s been dealing with this weekend.

“I like how every single one of your stories is about Usnavi getting stuck somewhere,” Paola says to Vanessa.

“It’s his trademark,” Ruben says. “Hey, did Ma ever show you that video Vanessa sent of Usn—“

“Not necessary,” Usnavi interrupts loudly. “Irrelevant. Unneeded. _Mean_.”

Ruben ignores him, pulling up the video on his phone of their first park date way back when. Usnavi looks at Vanessa with betrayal writ all over his face as though he’s expecting her to help. She blows him a kiss. He flips her off, though he checks to make sure Ruben’s mom isn’t watching first.

“Why would you—“ Paola starts.

“It was for science,” Usnavi says haughtily. “Ruben should understand.”

“He said _bet I could still fit in one of those baby swings_ and I said _you’ll get stuck_ and he said _oh yeah? Watch me!”_ Ruben elaborates.

“I did fit in it,” Usnavi argues. “It was fitting out of it that was the trouble.” He squints over at the play area several feet away from them, then gives Mercedes a considering look. “I bet _you’d_ have no problem.”

Mercedes makes the shape of a frame with her hands, then holds her thumb out over the swingset with one eye closed like she’s measuring it, and says, “you know, I think you’re right.”

“Generally I’ve found that if either of these two start a sentence with _I bet_ thats a good cue to run in the opposite direction,” Ruben warns her.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Usnavi whispers loudly to Mercedes, who grins knowingly at him and half-skips off to test the hypothesis, Usnavi and Paola right behind her. Whatever Usnavi said to Mercedes at the parade seemed to have flipped her opinion a complete 180 by the time the Rosarios’ party yesterday evening came around, but that’s no surprise, there’s not many people can survive a conversation with Usnavi without his gravitational pull dragging them in to his orbit. 

What did surprise Vanessa is they seemed to like her too, in a quiet sort of way. Sitting with Paola in companionable silence when things were getting a little too holiday-season-sentimental at the party yesterday. Mercedes saying “hey, you’re going off to do some photography thing, right?” and when Vanessa confirmed, telling her in a low voice like it’s a secret that she’s thinking of doing art school or maybe photography once she graduates high school.

“Not another scientist, then,” Vanessa had said.

“Ha!” Mercedes answered. “You think I wanna try and live up to Ruben’s legacy? No thanks. And Paola here’s got politics covered, so I figure one of us has to be the arts kid.”

“Covering all bases? Your family’s gonna take over the world,” Vanessa said, half-joking. Paola and Mercedes exchanged glances and said, simultaneous, “that’s the plan”, and Vanessa changed that _half-joking_ to _probably gonna happen some day._

It must be nice to have sisters, Vanessa thinks. Probably for the best that she’s an only child, but in some other world that would’ve been cool.

“You coming?” Ruben asks, and Vanessa hesitates for a second before deciding “nah, I’ll wait here”, indicating at a nearby bench. Sure, she’ll play on the jungle gym and mess around when it’s her and the boys on a quiet rainy day, but even though the park is almost empty again in the cold, she’s not gonna do that shit in front of Ruben’s family, she’s a grown-ass adult.

Except it would be fun. She hates moments like this when she’s reminded that however much she doesn’t give a shit what people think for most things, there’s also a million ways she _does_ give a shit what people think, she just doesn’t notice it till it hits her right in the face. This is why she prefers the boys company: for all they think she’s the most confident one, there’s so many situations when their _is this socially acceptable_ metronome doesn’t tick in time with everyone else’s that make it easy for Vanessa to go offbeat too, in ways that she’d normally not let herself. For instance, she knows for a fact Usnavi sometimes goes on the swings even if he’s by himself so long as the play area is empty, and even then she’s pretty sure that’s just so he doesn’t creep out families with little kids and not out of any sense of embarrassment. She could never imagine doing something like that unless he’s with her.

And that’s how she ends up being left alone to make conversation with Ruben’s mom, another situation where she’s only got confidence when backup is there. She sits on top of the backrest of the bench, trying to figure out how to project _please let me just sit here in silence_ with body language without it coming across as rude, but clearly she fails because Estefanía sits on the seat beside her and asks “do I make you nervous?”, blunt and amused. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” Vanessa admits. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be so on edge. We’re really not that judgmental,” Estefanía says. Vanessa thinks of Mercedes and can’t help but raise an eyebrow the tiniest bit. Estefanía spots it right away - must have been impossible to get away with anything having her as a mom - and amends with “though maybe a little overprotective.”

“I’d say that's pretty justified,” Vanessa says. She slides down to sit on the bench proper. “I know how much this weekend means to him, I do, it just ain’t the kinda thing I’m used to.”

Estefanía hums and nods. They both watch the others: Mercedes, it turns out, can fit in a swing and is now demonstrating how easily she can climb back out of it while Usnavi throws his hands in the air like he’s mad about it. Estefanía smiles over at them and then at Vanessa, saying, “Marcado is actually my maiden name, has he ever told you that?"

“No?”

“He was Ruben Manuel Marcado-Chavez on his birth certificate. But he stopped using the Chavez when he was nine, and we had it legally changed when he was eleven. I told him perhaps he shouldn’t be so eager to leave that part of himself behind, and he said _well maybe someone should have told Dad that first_ , so how could I argue? Things like that are simpler to him. And he wasn’t wrong.”

“Sounds like he was a real little smartass,” Vanessa says, fondly. It strikes her that other than knowing Ruben’s dad is about on a level with Vanessa’s own, he’s told them very little about that side of his family. Is he even in touch with any of them? Like hell is she gonna ask Estefanía about it, but it’s something else to toss on the neverending pile of Ruben mysteries.

“The more things change,” says Estefanía, with a laugh. “When he… came back to us, he said he’d kept his name the whole time even though it was so dangerous. That he’d chosen to be a Marcado and couldn’t bring himself to change it. And he said the same thing after _that man_ showed his face again last month.”

Jesus. Imagine the burden and the pride of knowing that he felt so deeply about this name they share - the name he _chose_ \- that he’d keep it no matter what. Knowing that being Ruben Marcado was more important to him than anything. Would Vanessa keep her last name, in the same circumstances? Does being a García mean as much to her?

She doesn’t know the answer to that. She’s not sure that she wants to know.  Also, Ruben’s mom says _that man_ with more venom than every cuss word Vanessa’s ever used about Jason combined. It’s pretty impressive.

There’s nothing Vanessa can say, really. They silently observe as Usnavi tries to persuade Ruben to do something - Vanessa has no idea what, but she’d recognize Usnavi’s exaggerated pleading gestures from a mile off, hands clasped together and bouncing on the balls of his feet, it’s what he does whenever she’s got a snack he wants in on. Then he switches tactics, grabbing Ruben round the waist trying to physically carry him away. Ruben, unable to free himself, just goes floppy instead, dropping heavily to the floor and taking Usnavi down with him, both of them giggling like kids.

“He used to do that when we were at the store and he decided it was time to go home,” Estefanía says. “Like a lead weight. Much easier to deal with when he was small enough to carry under one arm, of course.”

Aaand they’re back to babies again. On cue, Estefanía sighs and says, “I’m sorry if I made things complicated with the baby conversation the other day. Rubén said not to bring it up again, but I thought I should at least apologize.”

“I don’t want to take nothin' away from his life,” Vanessa says, quietly. The last thing she ever wants is to do that. Ruben’s sacrificed enough for the sake of other people. “Or get in the way of what he wants.”

“I really don’t think you will. It wasn’t intended to put any pressure on. It’s enough to know that you two understand him.”

“Not always. But we want to. We try.”

“That’s all anyone can do.” Estefanía’s eyes go distant and Vanessa can see a shadow of Ruben in her face, something wistful and determined and worn down by life all mixed up together.

She showed them some pictures of Ruben as a teen the night before: his graduation, his first day at college. He was a cute kid, chubby and awkward with a mouthful of metal, but Vanessa was preoccupied noticing all of the short sleeved shirts, the unscarred arms, and she could tell Usnavi was too. Sometimes they don’t really notice them any more, that’s just how Ruben looks. It’s jarring to be reminded it’s not always been that way.

“It must be difficult,” she says. “We’ve always known him how he is now. Seein' him change, I can’t imagine it.”

“Yes,” Estefanía agrees, a troubled look passing briefly over her face. “Things have never been what I hoped for him. Sometimes…sometimes I think I must have done something wrong. No parent wants their child to feel unworthy, and he always acted as though he thought he had to earn my love, no matter how much I told him I would be proud of him no matter what. I can’t help but wonder if that’s why…but I see that changing now, because of you two. You’ll never know how grateful I am.”

Vanessa kicks her shoes in the dirt at her feet and says, “I think…I think the fact that he’d keep your name no matter what, that he chose it, that says a lot. I think he’s always known exactly how much you love him.”

“Oh, I don’t think he could,” Estefanía says. “That would be impossible.”

She takes Vanessa’s hand between both of hers. “Vanessa, believe me, I know this kind of thing can be very difficult, having to meet a partner’s family, and I know why this might not be an ideal situation for you in particular. But I told you all this because I thought you should know that when Ruben chooses family, he _truly_ means it, no matter what. And we’re all so very glad he chose you.”

Pretty sure most people don’t have so much intensity behind meeting the family, Vanessa thinks, the absolute weight of Ruben’s trust, the way that in its wake it carries so much from so many people. It’s strange how something so heavy can make her feel lighter inside. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

Over with the others, Paola is standing upright on the swing, swaying her hips to get a slow momentum. Ruben grabs the back of the seat and starts to pull it back too high, grinning as Paola yells at him to stop and Mercedes cheers him on. Vanessa tries to let herself feel what Estefanía must feel seeing all her children together and healthy and happy, what a relief it must be, and knows whatever she’s coming up with can’t possibly compare to the real thing.

Fuck it. Life’s too fragile to be self-conscious.

“I better go keep him in line,” she says, and she heads over to be with her boys.

***

** January 8. **

Usnavi’s still on bodega time so waking up to Ruben and Vanessa’s alarms chiming out in near-unison is actually kind of a long sleep in for him. There’s only Vanessa in bed next to him, looking disoriented but still managing to smile, which is something of a miracle any time before nine AM.

“Happy birthday, babe,” she says drowsily, and flops her arm over his tummy in an uncoordinated attempt at a hug. He undoes her braid so he can finger-comb through her hair.

“Happy my birthday to you too,” he says.

“Thanks,” she says, snuggling against him as Ruben peeks in with a smile. 

“You’re awake,” he says. “Hold on a sec.”

He disappears briefly and returns with an envelope tucked under one arm and holding a cupcake, carefully shielding the lit candle with his other hand.

“Oh, look, I’m one years old today,” Usnavi says, as Ruben passes the cake to him and sits on the bed. Vanessa sits up and shuffles round so they’re all facing each other like three corner points on an equilateral triangle.

“You try getting twenty-six candles on a cupcake,” Ruben says. “Happy birthday, querido. Make a wish.”

“You gotta sing to me first,” Usnavi demands. “Otherwise it won’t come true.”

“The bossiest birthday boy,” Vanessa grumbles, but they both oblige.Usnavi conducts along with his hand, blows the candle out when they finish then balances the cake on his knee so he can open his card.

****

“Oh my god! This is so cute,” he enthuses.

“Ruben drew it,” Vanessa says, which Usnavi had already guessed. He touches one of the little hearts lightly with a finger. Ruben almost never shows them his drawings. “Turns out it’s really hard to find polyamorous greetings cards in stores, who knew? And I chose the cupcake, it’s coffee with chocolate frosting.”

“Oh _man_ ,” Usnavi says with feeling, standing the card up on thebedside cabinet safely out of the way then sticking his finger in the cupcake frosting to taste it. Chocolate for breakfast is always great, but this is especially good. “Aw, yeah. I love you both so much.”

Ruben smiles, takes the cupcake out of his hand to put it on the side next to the card.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Usnavi protests, then “ _oh_ , I see,” when Vanessa flings a leg over him to straddle his lap, hands on his chest and her eyes so pretty and excited. “Damn, girl, those wishes work fast, right?”

“I hope you didn’t waste your wish on this,” Ruben tells him. “Since we do it all the time without magic.”

“Eh, I don’t need wishes anyway,” Usnavi says. “I already have everythin' a boy could dream of right here.”

“Oh, so you don’t want a bj then?”

“Or your actual present?”

“No, no, I still want both of those, gimme,” Usnavi says. Vanessa smirks and Ruben moves behind him, close enough Usnavi can feel his breath.

It’s been so goddamn good to slowly get back to this kind of normal the past few weeks. Alright, some things have changed — like turns out hickies are a big old no-go now because he still doesn’t feel remotely okay about anything near his throat, which is a damn shame because Usnavi’s normally a major fan of a lovebite — but Ruben’s fingers moving deliberate over the back of his neck still feel real good. Vanessa’s kissing him hard, pushing him so his back is flat against Ruben’s chest and then she moves kissing down his stomach and - fuck, _yes_.

Usnavi gathers Vanessa’s hair in his hand to keep it out of the way, closes his eyes, sings _happy birthday to me_ under his breath until Ruben finds a better way to keep his mouth occupied.

****

***

Ruben and Vanessa are both way too apologetic about having to go to work today. Usnavi doesn’t mind. Camila calls him before she leaves for work too, Kevin shouting _feliz cumpleaños_ from somewhere in the background. Sonny keeps snapchatting himself singing happy birthday to Usnavi from various locations in a bizarre operatic voice. He’s feeling pretty loved before the day even gets going. And he’s got plans, anyway.

Vanessa had told him he must be insane when he suggested that he could keep Ruben’s family entertained for the day while the other two are busy, but Usnavi’s pretty excited for it. Now they’ve got past the first awkward introductions, why bother being self-conscious? That’s just wasting time that could be better spent having fun, and who better to take them on a tour, anyway? This is his home, it’s his, it’s him and it’s Vanessa and it’s Ruben too: Usnavi wants to make sure they see how great it is to live here, so they can see Ruben made exactly the right decision coming to the best city in the whole world. Things tourists wouldn’t think to look for and that Ruben wouldn’t think to show them, quirky little stores and hidden beautiful places and streets full of color and noise and life.

And it was either that or spend it alone. Usnavi’s fine with not having a party, he doesn’t usually do that anyway. He always claims the Dia de Los Reyes festivities as a joint party between him and the Kings, but really it’s just his birthday is never so much a celebration of his life as it is relief that this means the holidays are finally over for another year, another December behind him. It’s still preferable to keep himself occupied in some way. Usually he’s busy at work, twice as busy as he’d normally be and with a renewed energy, doing early spring cleaning in the winter because he’s so looking forward to the lighter, brighter months ahead. 

Not an option any more, but taking the Marcados on a miniature tour of some of his favorite spots is a good alternative. Usnavi actually entirely forgets that it’s his birthday, which is sorta how he prefers it, up until they stop to get a drink and a snack in some coffee place Usnavi’s never tried before - he loves that his city is so sprawling he never runs out of new places, even after a lifetime, and also he loves that he’s getting cake twice in the same day - andwhen they all finish eating Estefanía hands over a neatly-wrapped package, with one of those spirally curly ribbons and everything.

“What?” Usnavi says, bewildered.  
  
“Happy birthday,” she says. Paola and Mercedes echo her in unison.

“Oh!” He takes the present and feels it. It’s light and floppy, like clothes, maybe? “You already donated to Sonny’s fundraiser,” he protests. “You really don’t have to—“

“Don’t be silly, we wanted to. It’s just a small gift.”

“We already bought it now, anyway,” Mercedes points out.

Can’t argue with that, so Usnavi carefully takes the ribbon off and pulls the present open by the tape at the seams, feeling like his usual way of tearing straight into something is somehow inappropriate. Inside is a sweater, very similar to the ones Ruben wears but not as high up around the neck as his, and instead of deep blue it’s scarlet-red.

“Rubén said this is your color.”

“Yeah,” he says, and for some reason his voice is all thick, “this is my color. It’s lovely. Thank you.”

They got him a gift. Ruben almost definitely helped them pick it out. That’s so nice of them, they’re so _nice_.

“Usnavi, are you alright?” says Paola very gently, after he doesn’t speak for like a full minute, staring down at the sweater and rubbing his thumbs across the sleeve. It’s very soft. Usnavi can tell it’s better quality than most of his current hand-me-down and thrift-store wardrobe.

Usnavi nods. He can’t speak, there’s a warning behind his eyes that anything he says is gonna break a dam.  He’s not really sure what’s wrong. Or if anything even _is_ wrong. It’s just a sweater. He feels the way it feels when a song has a perfect string section and the violin ekes out that one flawless ringing vibration inside him as if the bow is pulling right across his nerves like strings, when he doesn’t know if he needs it to stop or if he wants to play it on loop until his heart gives out. He survived another December, this one scraping way closer than he’s comfortable with, but he did it. It’s his birthday and he got a blowjob and a cupcake for breakfast. The coffee here is okay but there’s a faint burnt aftertaste, Usnavi would have made it so much better in the store.It’s his birthday and he’s twenty-six and in love twice over and with his whole life stretching out unmapped ahead of him. Vanessa’s gonna be leaving soon and Usnavi is too scared of that happening to even think about it. It’s his birthday and his boyfriend’s mom bought him a sweater in his color, that perfect shade of deep, vibrant red that somehow means _Usnavi_ as much as recognizing his own face in a mirror.

He loses the fight, a tear dropping down either cheek and once it starts they keep coming. His breath hitches once but he’s not really crying properly, no sobs or even sadness, just tears there on his face like soft rain.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Estefanía says sympathetically, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, let’s step outside and get some fresh air. Girls, wait here, don’t talk to anyone, we’ll be back in a minute.”

To be honest what he’d like is the opposite of fresh air, but even if he still smoked he couldn’t do that in front of Ruben’s _mom_. He lets her lead him out the door to a bench across the street still in eyeline of the coffee place. Usnavi can’t properly remember any more what it used to feel like when his mother held him so he doesn’t know if this is the same, but the concerned, maternal stream of comforting words in Spanish is familiar enough that he can pretend just for a minute that this is his own mamá, sitting him down and hugging him until he pulls himself together, telling him it’s going to be okay.

“If you didn’t like the sweater you could have just said so,” Estefanía tells him when he sits back away from her, and it’s a weak joke but somehow it immediately flips an off-switch on his mood and Usnavi feels normal again, one of those sudden summer storms that starts and ends in an instant.

That was weird.

Also, embarrassing.

“No, I love it,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I’m sorry, that was…I don’t actually know. Sorry. I swear I’m not always this, uh, _this_.”

“It’s alright,” she says, handing him a tissue. “Rubén told me everything that’s been happening.”

“Maybe we don’t mention this to him?” he asks hopefully, wiping his eyes again because they haven’t quite got the memo that feelings time is done now. Estefanía gives him a look.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, “but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was, and he don’t need to know every single time I have a crazy emotion, it’d only make him worried. Can’t we keep this one between us? For his sake?”

He gives his most pleading gaze, and can see her instantly relenting with a laugh.

“Ay, I should have known you’d be trouble. How often does that look work on Rubén?”

“Pretty much every time,” Usnavi answers, grinning at her. “Please, Estefanía?”

“Our secret, then. But!” she holds a warning finger up before he can thank her. “Only if you promise me you’re working on it. And don’t think I won’t find out if you aren’t.”

“I’m gettin' there,” he promises.

***

They all go out for dinner together, part celebration and part goodbye because Ruben’s family leave first thing tomorrow, and Ruben keeps having to put his cutlery down and just marvel quietly to himself about where things are right now. Vanessa’s in a gorgeous green dress and Usnavi’s wearing a nice shirt under his new red sweater (it looks perfect on him, Ruben knew it would), and he’s  _actually_ dating both of them, and they’re sitting on either side of him with their feet pressed against his feet hidden under the table like a good kind of secret. His family are here. His mom isn’t crying, Mercedes isn’t mad at anyone, Paola is kind of spaced out but that’s a good thing because it means she isn’t anxiously watching all of them for any sign of unrest like she has been for the past…god, the past two years.

After dinner, Vanessa and Usnavi leave together, Ruben heading back to the hotel his family are staying at to spend a few hours alone with them. They talk and argue happily and Ruben lounges on one of the beds, Paola lays her head against his shoulder, Mercedes ruffles his hair and draws stars on his cheek in eyeliner pencil and he doesn’t flinch away, he doesn’t need to ask them to stop, he can be their big brother whole and in one piece right now.

It gets late. Ruben should leave. He really doesn’t want this to end yet.

“Rubén?” his mom says, careful and quiet.

“I’m okay,” he says. She sits by him and puts a hand on his knee. He tries to smile.

Paola grabs Mercedes by the wrist and announces “we’re going to the vending machine in the lobby and may be some time.”

“We just ate?” Mercedes says. Paola tugs her arm pointedly. Mercedes assesses Ruben’s facial expression and says “the vending machine calls to me goodbye let’s go” and the two of them leave in a hurry.

“Very subtle,” Ruben says.  


“Cariño, talk to me, por favor,” Mamá says worriedly.

“I’m okay, really I am,” he reassures her. “I enjoyed this weekend.”  
  
“Me too. I’m glad we could do this. It did me good to see how well you fit here.”

“I wish you could be here too. I wish you weren’t going back.”

“Oh, mijo."

“Do you really have to go?” he asks even though he knows the answer, feeling like he’s just been dropped off at kindergarten for the first time.  
  
“I’m sorry. We’ll be back so soon, though,” she answers. “So much sooner this time, I promise. And when we sell the house you’ll be able to come stay with us too. And if you need us we’re only a phonecall away.”

“I just wish you could always be here.”

“So do I, Rubén,” she says, hugging him. “But this is where your life is for now, this is where you are at peace. Focus on that. What you have here is very special.”

“I know that,” Ruben says. “I know.”

*****  
**  
January 8 to January 11.

The week passes in a series of escalating goodbyes like increasing difficulty levels on a videogame. Ruben comes back a few hours later than they do after dinner on Monday evening and his eyes are telltale bloodshot, but he kisses them with a sweetly satisfied slowness, and tells them that he loves them at least seven times, and there’s a faint smile just lingering around his face all evening, so Vanessa’s pretty sure they somehow managed to pass the weekend with flying colors. She makes eye contact with Usnavi while Ruben’s cuddled into her shoulder and they do a mental victory high-five.

On Tuesday even though she’s at work for the rest of the week she packs up all but the essentials from her desk. They go out for drinks after hours. This is a beginner level goodbye: it’s all cheering and excitement and shots. Usnavi tuts at her when she gets home all giggly and says “on a school night, too? Vanessa, you rebel.”

Wednesday, intermediate: Sonny comes round for dinner. Vanessa instructs him to keep Usnavi and Ruben out of trouble while she’s gone. They both object with a laugh to the notion of being babysat by a teenager, but looking over at Sonny she knows he understood that she genuinely meant it, and that he’s going to tackle the responsibility with all the enthusiasm of everything a De la Vega ever does. And she just realized she doesn’t ever actually talk to Sonny on the phone just to catch up, because she sees him often enough in person, but she’ll definitely miss the kid’s exuberant determination, so it’s a good excuse to call him while she’s away, too.

And then it’s Thursday, and things kick up to hard mode. 

Not so much because of the sweet sorrow of parting or whatever. Vanessa can’t say honestly she’ll miss her mom, but it’d be kinda fucked up to move out of state for several months without saying goodbye to her. She really doesn’t want to be here. Once they get past “so is your flight all sorted” kind of smalltalk it’s like, well, now what? 

They’re tiptoeing around the memory of Vanessa moving out. This is going way better than that conversation did. Less crying and guilt-tripping, a lot more awkward shuffling and coughing.

“So how are Usnavi and Ruben?” Mom asks.

“They’re fine,” Vanessa says, decides not to bring up the fact that she met Rubens family over the weekend because that seems like opening a door to a _when are you going to introduce me to Ruben_ convo that she super does not want or need. Her mom doesn’t approve of them. She doesn’t quite disapprove either, and at least she pretends to be totally comfortable with it once the initial _you’re doing what?!_ revelations were through, and she doesn’t throw out questioning and vaguely homophobic judgements like Vanessa’s dad did up until Vanessa blocked his number, so it could be worse. And Vanessa’s pretty sure it’s coming from a place of, if not genuine concern, at least an _attempt_ at performing the mom role. But there’s a huge difference between that and actually hanging out all of them in the same room. Avoidance might not be mature but it sure as hell makes Vanessa’s life easier.

“That’s good,” her mom says.

“Mmhm.”

Another silence. Then her mom gets a decisive, set look on her face that’s kinda unsettling in how it brings out a family resemblance Vanessa tries not to see, and _then_ she stands up and hugs Vanessa.

“Uhhh,” Vanessa says, patting her mom uncertainly on the back. They’re not a hugging family. Usually they only hug if someone's crying and even then only if it wasn’t because of a fight with each other. “Is somethin' wrong?”  
  
“No,” Mom says, pulling away and holding Vanessa by the shoulders. “Maybe? No, I don’t think so. You’ve grown up so well, Vanessa, I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

“Uh,” Vanessa says again, slightly panicked. Is this a heart-to-heart? Are there going to be emotions? Is her mom going to get sentimental? Is this apartment too high up to jump out of the window and run away?  
  
“You’re…” her mom struggles for words. _Please don’t say you’re proud of me,_ Vanessa prays. _I cannot deal with hearing those words from you right now._ “You’re just doing very well. With your life. And I’m happy about it. I know that it’s not because of me.”

It would be too harsh to agree, and she appreciates hearing it, so Vanessa just says “thanks, Mom. I’ll text you once I land.”

“Love you,” Mom says, a little stiffly.

“You too,” Vanessa says. She can’t bring herself to actually say the words out loud, hasn’t been able to for years, but she does mean it. “I better get back. The guys will be wonderin' where I am and I need an early night tonight.”

***

That’s a lie, Vanessa isn’t going home just yet. There’s another person she needs to see. But Dani’s presence in Vanessa’s life is another thing on the endless list of Do Not Discuss topics for a peaceful mother-daughter interaction, and that’s where Vanessa’s headed now, so she kept it to herself.

It wasn’t always like this. Dani and her mom used to be close friends, a bond through the same bold, acerbic sarcasm that Vanessa shares with both of them too. Until _something_ happened: shortly after the first time the power got cut off when she was about fourteen, Vanessa came home to hear yelling from the hallway that stopped suddenly as she opened the apartment door. Dani had pointed imperiously at Vanessa and said “pack a bag, we're going”. Her mom was facing the sink, vodka bottle in hand, didn’t even say goodbye. Vanessa stayed at Dani’s for two weeks until she started to worry that her mom might actually drink herself to death without her there and insisted on going back home. She suspects Dani might have let her stay forever if she’d wanted to. 

She still doesn’t know the details of the argument, but it was friendship over effective immediately from there. And you don't need a brain like Ruben's to figure out that it was about Vanessa.  Seems like every time Dani’s picked up the slack since then - god, countless times by now - it only made Vanessa’s mom more resentful of both of them.

Probably should’ve stayed with Dani, in retrospect. Things are so much easier with her. They hit the exact same conversation topics that she just did with her mom, the flight and the job and the boyfriends, but with Dani it flows easily, with Dani Vanessa actually _wants_ to tell her these things. They don’t have to walk over broken glass to reach an accord, she doesn’t have to hold half of herself back in case it sets all hell loose. Her mom used to say things like _I’m saying this because I care about you_ and _of course I love you_ and _we’re family_ and all of them made Vanessa feel like a failure, like the worst most selfish person in history. Now they’re just carefully polite and it makes Vanessa feel not much at all. Dani says things like _if you want coffee move your lazy butt and get it yourself_ and _I’ll take none of your crap tonight, por favor_ and _God grant me strength to deal with this nightmare of a girl_ and has always made Vanessa feel indestructible.

She came here to say goodbye, but also she came here because she needs to tell Dani that. Her mom was right earlier: it’s not because of _her_ that Vanessa’s doing so well.

She’s gonna say it. 

Now. Right now. Okay, _now_.

Come on, Vanessa.

“If you take any longer to spit out whatever you’re making all those faces about you’re going to miss your flight,” Dani says. 

It’s just being honest. Vanessa’s not gonna be upstaged by her own mom. Now.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you enough,” she blurts, and Dani blinks hard in surprise. “You’ve done so much for me and I know I ain’t say it often but I really hope you know how grateful I am, for everythin'. I wouldn’t be doin' this whole job thing if it weren’t for you. You made me who I am, you know?”

“Ay, don’t pin that on me,” Dani says. 

“This is the one moment of sincerity you’re ever gonna get from me, Dani, you really wanna waste it on a cheap joke?”

Dani shrugs expressively, like _I mean, maybe,_ then softens. “You made it here yourself, chica, I was just a cheerleader.”

“Well, I don’t know where I’d be without the cheerleadin',” Vanessa insists. “Probably still stuck workin' the salon with you.”

“Oh, well, that’s gratitude,” Dani sniffs disapprovingly. “That salon gave you _opportunities_.”

“Yeah, the opportunity to deal with the entire barrio’s dandruff and headlice and bad style choices,” she says. “Dani, what if I hate it in California?”

“This again? I swear, the angel Gabriel himself could come down and hand you a mojito and a thousand dollars and you’d find a way to mope about it,” Dani says. “Lighten up! You just need to let yourself be happy. Have fun, make memories, make sure you call me every week.”

“Of course I will.”

“It will be very quiet here without all your complaining, mija,” Dani says, which is Dani-speak for _I’m going to miss you._

“It’ll be very quiet in California without you gettin' all up in my business,” she answers, which is Vanessa-speak for _I’ll miss you too._

***

**January 12.**

Expert mode. It’s the night before she leaves, everything packed, everything prepared, butterflies in her stomach. It feels like all suitcases and bags at the end of the bed are all staring expectantly at her. They’re not the only ones.

“Stop gawkin' at me, you creeps,” she says.

“Stop being so cute, then,” Usnavi retorts.

“I’m going to have forgotten what your face looks like within a week,” Ruben says, obligingly looking away for about a nanosecond before he stares at her again. “I’m trying to make the most of you being here before you just become a hazy blob with great hair.”

“Oh, well, awesome to know I’ve made such a big impression. Jeez.”

“Nothing personal,” Ruben says. “One time I walked past my mom in the street and didn’t recognize her because she was wearing a new coat.”

“You’re kiddin'.”

“I really wish I was.”

“So,” Usnavi says. “It’s tomorrow.”  
  
Oh, shit, he’s right, it’s tomorrow. Like, she knew it was tomorrow, but it’s actually tomorrow. And the guys are looking all thoughtful and feelings-y. Fuck, she can’t do this one yet.

Instead of letting it turn into a Conversation she says “sure is. You gonna give me somethin' to remember you by?”, with a lecherous eyebrow-wiggle, and the boys look at each other, and then holy _shit_ do they deliver. She comes once with both of them fingering her together and she’s reminded of their first time, the first day the three of them became _them_. A second time with Ruben inside her, and she understands sometimes why he can’t handle looking into people’s eyes, because looking into his right now is like staring into the sun, but she does it anyway. Doesn’t reach a third when he switches out with Usnavi but it feels so good anyway, and they’ve been at it for long enough that she’s kind of getting sore but she’s still not ready for it when Usnavi finishes, babbling in both languages like he usually does, she wants to keep going right up until the very second she has to leave.

It’s hot and frantic and intense and perfect even when it’s not perfect, and Vanessa thrives on all that, Vanessa knows how to ride physical sensation to the peak and always feel in control even when she isn’t. Vanessa _doesn’t_ know how to handle the space after they all clean up and cuddle, the finality and finiteness of knowing it’s going to be a long time before they do this again, the melancholy adoration of them pressing in on either side of her and whispering to her while she drifts off about how proud they are she’s taking this step, about how much they love her. She wants to stop time and stay like this forever.

Or maybe not: the middle isn’t Vanessa’s favorite place to sleep, and she wakes up a couple of hours later feeling very loved, but also very sweaty and crowded. Untangling herself from Usnavi’s arms, she stands and rolls him into the middle. He makes a tiny disgruntled “bwee?” noise and shuffles around blindly till he finds Ruben, settling down as he pulls him close. Ruben sighs in response and pats Usnavi’s cheek, like they’re communicating with other even when they’re asleep.

Why the hell would anyone ever leave this? She must be out of her goddamn mind. On impulse she takes a picture, just their shapes in silhouette with dim streetlight spilling through the window pale yellow across their dark hair. Doesn’t know if it’ll make her feel better when she misses them or if it’ll just make her miss them worse, knowing they’re together when she’s so far away.

Three-seventeen AM. Her flight is in five hours. It’s only short-haul but it’ll still be hell if she doesn’t get a couple more hours sleep, so she gets back in bed behind Usnavi, fits her knees against the bend of his legs and winds her arm over to rest against Ruben’s, thumb tracing scar tissue and the three of their bodies woven together in curlicue patterns, and Vanessa wonders if it’s possible to regret something she hasn’t even done yet.

***

**January 13.**

“You ready?” Usnavi says, pulling the trolley full of Vanessa’s luggage to a stop. He definitely ain't fucking ready, but everyone’s trying to put a brave face on this whole situation, even though he kinda wants to cry and Ruben’s not said a word since they got out of Benny’s cab and Vanessa keeps checking her ticket with a closeness that Usnavi knows is covering nerves.

“No,” Vanessa says. “Is it too late to change my mind?”

“No,” Usnavi says, “but we know you ain’t.”

“We’ll be here,” Ruben says. He looks pale and freaked out by being in the airport building, but he insisted he come along to say goodbye. “You’ll have a great time but if it’s really not working, there’s no shame in coming back home. We’ll still be here.”

“I know,” she says, looking serious. “Just…don’t wait on everythin', y’know? Make sure you do stuff. I mean, I don’t know _what_ stuff, that’s on you, but I don’t want you to feel like you gotta hang around for me to come back before you can enjoy yourselves.”

“I was just gonna Facetime you all the time and carry you around with me everywhere,” Usnavi says.

“Oh, well, that works too.”

_“_ It’s gonna be so fuckin' weird without you here,” he tells her. She nods. Vanessa’s _always_ been here, never any further away than taking the A.  Is this how it felt for her when he nearly left? Ended up longest he’s ever been away from home was vacationing two weeks in DR, and she’d said _you’d damn well better come back, too_ and kissed him, shyly because they were still new back then _._ It kinda terrifies him whenever he thinks about how close he was to leaving for good. Imagine him on a beach, no Heights family, no Sonny, no Abuela, wondering what could’ve been with Vanessa, never even knowing Ruben was somewhere out there in the world.

Maybe Vanessa and Ruben woulda found each other anyway, somehow, even though it’s the bodega that brought Ruben to them. But they gotta be fated, right? He sometimes comforts himself imagining the alternatives when he starts getting too wound up about what nearly happened: Vanessa and Ruben would have met, fallen in love, gone on a vacation to DR on a whim, and there’s Usnavi in the bar Abuela said he should open — but then what, would he have given up DR and come back with them, or would they give up their whole lives to live on island time with someone they barely knew by that point? Probably not. It’d just be another too-short time together with a goodbye at the end.

Usnavi _hates_ goodbyes. This is definitely not the worst he’s ever had, but it’s pretty high up on the list, even though he knows he’s being stupid. She’s not leaving the fucking planet.

Vanessa checks her watch with a sigh. “I guess I should probably go.”

“See you in four months then,” Ruben says, in a wobbly voice.

“Oh, don’t you start, I’m tryna get on this plane with some dignity," Vanessa says, her eyes welling up. “I’ll see you before then, dumbass, we’ll figure out a visit.“ She hugs him. “It’s barely any time at all. You won’t even notice I’m gone, ain't need all this drama about it.”

But Usnavi notices she’s not letting go of Ruben, holding tight and only letting up one arm to bring Usnavi in too, pressing herself between both of them.

“Look after yourselves, okay? Look after each other. You gotta be in one piece next time I see you. I’ll miss you both so much.”

“I love you,” Ruben says in her ear, voice cracking. “Be safe.”

“I will. I love you too, honey, always,” she says, then looks up at Usnavi. “I love you, Usnavi.”

“Te amo, Vanessa,” he says, cupping her face in his hands, trying to memorize all of her before she goes. “Call us when you land.”

“I will,” she says, kisses them both one last time, and then it's time.

***

For saying he’s supposedly pretty clever, Ruben's real slow sometimes. It’s only as he watched her taking her suitcases out the trunk at the airport that it really registers properly: _Vanessa has a new job in California_ means Vanessa has a new job in _California,_ and that means she’s leaving them behind _._ That means four months without her angry noises in the kitchen while she makes breakfast, without her hair tickling his arm as she leans to read something over his shoulder, without her just being _there_ , constant and consistent and brilliant. Oh, thi s why Usnavi totally flipped his shit when she first told them about the job. Ruben doesn’t want her to leave, doesn’t want to let go of her or stop kissing her or watch her walk away. He even forgets for a second they’re in an airport, the world narrowed down to just Vanessa, hesitantly glancing over her shoulder at them as she pushes her luggage towards check-in. They both smile after her, wave, and inside Ruben’s head he’s yelling _don’t go, you should stay, please just stay with us forever._

Saying it out loud would only make this harder for everyone. And he knows why she needs to do this. But damn, he wishes she didn’t.

They stand there till long after she’s out of sight, but neither of them seem to be able to move until a flight announcement bursts into life and and it’s like having hot water poured through his veins, the sensation too familiar.

“Attention all passengers on—” 

“— _charter flight eight-three-eight-zero to Montego Bay, Jamaica, your departure will be delayed one hour —“_

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says, knees going weak, that bloodrush that means he’s going away too fast to hold it off for long _._ God, this is the last thing he needs right now. Usnavi grabs his hand to steady him.

“Are y—“

_“—ou okay, carino? You haven’t called since—“_

_“There’s no time, Ma, this is important, you need to take the girls and get out of town. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. I’m leaving for a while. Out of the country.”_

_“What? Why? Rubén, you’re scaring me.”_

_“It’ll be okay, Mamá, I just—”_

_“—_ Have to get out of here,” he mumbles.

“I know, come on, we—”

_“— haven’t got all night,” Ian says, dragging Ruben away as he automatically goes to pick up his suitcase from baggage claim. “Well, I do have all night, that’s the deal, but I have big plans for_ **_you_** _, my treacherous little chemist, and the clock’s ticking.”_

_He’s being_ pulled towards the exit, gently, Usnavi’s thumb rubbing a reassuring halfcircle across his hand _steered towards the exit, Ian’s arm circling too tight around his shoulder._

_“Where are we going?”_ Ruben asks and _Ian says “now, that would spoil the surprise, Rubes”_ Usnavi says “I need to get you somewhere safe before I start bawlin’ like a goddamn baby and time’s running out fast on that one, hermoso.” 

Outside Ruben _tries desperately to make eye contact with the guy at the car rental who doesn’t even look up_ tries desperately to look halfway fucking sane as Benny climbs out the driver’s seat of his waiting cab looking concerned and _Ian says “you get in the back, don’t want you trying any daring escapes”_ Usnavi says “we’re fine, Benny, I really gotta get Ruben home, I’ll get in the back” and Usnavi is _…Usnavi is naked and bleeding in the backseat of —_ no, wait, that never happened. That makes no sense. **_Ruben’s_** _in the backseat, Usnavi is at the bodega with Jason -_ No! Think clearly, stop it, be present. Usnavi is waiting for Ruben to get his shit together, Benny’s here too, Vanessa is _on a plane. She’s alone, and Ian is coming over to the empty seat next to her: “what a small world, this is a really good friend of mine. You know what, I’m gonna sit here next to—“_

Everything goes to black. 

It’s not alarming any more, really. Pleasant, almost, the quick descending power-down sound of a laptop overheating to failure, the relief of silence after the background noise of fans working loud doubletime to cool the systems: did not shut down properly, restart in safe mode.

“Shit,” Usnavi says. “Well, we lost him.”

Usnavi sounds upset. Ruben doesn’t remember sitting down but here he is on the curb outside the short stay parking area with his vision all clouded out. He just listens, because he feels like if he does anything else then he's going to start thinking again, and if he starts thinking again it's going to go badly.

“What do we do?” Benny asks, nervously.

“Nothin'. Give him space, he’ll come back in his own time. You come back to us, okay, Ruben? We’re gonna take you home just as soon as you’re ready to leave, a-and it’ll all be fine, everything's gonna be fine.”

There’s indistinct noises from Usnavi, Benny saying “oh, dude” in a sympathetic voice, movement - he thinks they might be hugging, he thinks Usnavi might be crying, he thinks the right thing to do would be to come back so that he can do something to help, especially now Vanessa’s not here.

Not yet. Ruben stays sitting. He drifts.

***

Vanessa sitting in the airport lounge is thinking so far this doesn’t measure up to imagination. She’s had fantasies about this moment since she was a kid, and it was all taking her sunglasses off at the top of some airplane steps in a picturesque sunset, hair whipping in the wind as she gazes out on her new life, or maybe drinking a cocktail in the first class lounge and laughing in a charming but devastating way. Not so much going through airport security then trailing around in yoga pants and one of Usnavi’s hoodies, trying to figure out which place will sell her a bucket-sized cup of coffee, still feeling half-asleep and already missing home.

This is moving downtown all over again, sitting on her new bed delighted to be free, outraged at the fact that she just realized how much she cared about Usnavi and what’s worse, _now he knows about it._ She wasn’t supposed to miss anyone when she finally left. She wasn’t supposed to have anyone to leave behind. Obviously Vanessa’s _so_ not complaining at how things worked out there, but it definitely makes that more complicated and now it’s making this more complicated too. If only she could bring them with her.

But just like moving downtown even though its not the same as she’d dreamed of when she was a teenager…she’s still flying, isn’t she? Not flying away, flying _towards_ , and not entirely how she’d imagined it, but she did it. She made it. She got out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n: i didnt abandon it! this chapter is only half the length i meant it to be because i really wanted to get it finally updated which is also why the art isnt coloured. shouldn't be nearly so long till the next upload now, sorry about the delay, i had a crisis of confidence in this particular one but now im feelin it again!]
> 
> [edit a few months later: i went back and deleted all but one of the drawings in this because honestly i just felt like they were super low-effort on my part and always ruined the reread factor for me (shut up, i can reread my own work) sorry!]

**January 13.**

**Vanessa.**

From her window seat Vanessa can see New York shrink to invisible after take-off, and yeah, okay, she cries a little. But her sadness stays under the clouds on Eastern Standard so that once they’re wheels down on the San Jose International runway all she’s feeling is _so_ ready for this. It takes all her effort not to shove past the asshole still sitting down in the aisle seat fastidiously tucking his in-flight safety pamphlet into the seatback when he should be getting his ass out of the way so Vanessa can get off this damn plane and get going.

She texts the boys while walking, gets a “ _this is benny, usnavi says ‘awesome and have fun’. tell nina i said hey_ ” and a blue heart emoji from Ruben in response while everyone’s bustling around her in baggage claim.

Vanessa has never been the type of girl to shriek and bounce around. She’ll shout, any kind of mood has a shout that suits it, but that’s different. Carla screams with delight all the time. Dani does it too. Come to think of it, so do Usnavi and Sonny. It’s the kinda thing thats really annoying when it’s anyone except for someone she actually likes, at which point it somehow turns endearing.

There’s always exceptions. The second she catches sight of Nina coming in through the automatic doors out the corner of her eye, she shrieks “NINAAA!” at the top of her lungs, ignoring the disapproving look from the old man standing next to her who caught the full force of it. “YO, ROSARIO, OVER HERE!”  


“VANESSAAA!” Nina hollers in return.

Abandoning the search for her suitcase, Vanessa hurtles across the main entrance to fling herself at Nina, who meets her in the middle in a mess of hugging and jumping and questions that are going totally unanswered in favor of talking very loudly over each other.

“You’re here!”

“I’m here! Te extrañe, how have you _been_ , it’s been—“

“Since September _,_ demasiado tiempo! How was your flight? God, I can’t believe we’re actually gonna be—“

“Living together! ¡Lo sé! Vamos, vámonos, let’s do this already.” She grabs Nina’s hand and starts pulling her towards the doors.  
  
Nina pulls right back. “Suitcase?” she reminds her.

“Oh, yeah, oops.”

Once they get her luggage to the car and start driving, Vanessa winds the window down to lean out, trying to see everything at once even though right now most of that is just parking lots and airport buildings. It’s new, that’s what matters.

“Sick mural,” Vanessa says, pointing.

“I know, I always love seeing it when I get back here. Welcome to San Jose, home of the grasping pit of disembodied hands,” Nina says. “Put your head back in the window, you aren’t a dog.”

“Gotta get that breeze in my hair. This is your fault for not picking me up in a convertible, it’s ruining the whole aesthetic I had planned. Gonna give you a bad Uber review.”

“Take it up with Violet, it’s her car. And it means we can live out here where the rent’s better ‘cause we carpool to campus. Still not cheap, but it’s the best we could get.” She glances over her shoulder to check behind her before changing lanes. “Meanwhile there’s Sven dropping out and moving over to Palo Alto to work on some tech startup whatever, which is how you got lucky with the room. He wasn’t even gonna bother subletting it, can you believe? Imagine being able to pay rent on _two_ Bay Area places and not even thinking about it. Or two places at all.”

“Jeez, we’ve had to have half of fuckin’ Washington Heights and Ruben’s savings chip in just so we can afford for Usnavi to stay in my apartment while I’m here, never mind saying _fuck it, I’ll leave it totally empty_.”

“Right? And it means I’ve been permanently third-wheeling Aubrey and Violet since he left, which is about as fun as it sounds.”

“Weeell, there is an easy fix for that.”

“Oh, no, you’re not gonna indoctrinate me into your threesome way of life. I’m too busy for _one_ partner right now. I think they kinda regret moving in together so soon anyway, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Okay, but all I really need to know about them is do either of them speak Spanish?”

“You want to know if you can talk shit without them understanding you.”

“Obviously.”

“Same old Vanessa,” Nina says, laughing. “No, they don’t, and it fucking sucks. I go so long having to keep things monolingual I feel like _I_ forget how to speak it sometimes.”

“As if that’d ever happen. Ain’t you minoring in translation studies? Oh, mira, palm trees, palm trees!” Vanessa says, pointing out the window. 

“Sad palm trees,” Nina says. “They can’t all hack the winter.”

“Don’t be mean, they’re trying their best,” Vanessa says. “Look at you, only two years in Cali and already so jaded with the lifestyle.”

“I can’t get excited every time I see a palm tree, they’re ubiquitous,” Nina says. “Also, editorial note, nobody here calls it Cali unless they’re a tourist, Aubrey was _very_ clear about that to me when I first met her. She’s a native.”

“Note taken. Y’know, it’s weird, I’ve never been the out-of-towner before? I’ll have to ask her how to blend in.”

“Oh, please don’t. Her California Opinions are almost as intense as when someone gets Usnavi started about the GWB.”

“Like you’re any better than he is. Hey, actually, but is there anything I should avoid talking about?” Vanessa asks, suddenly thinking about it. “Awkward topics, questions about family, you know the kinda thing.”

“None that I can think of off the top of my head? I mean, except for don’t be a homophobe, but since your boyfriends are pretty gay for each other you’re probably okay there.” Nina gives her a curious, sideways glance. “Kinda funny that you ask.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause usually you say whatever you want and to hell with what people think.”

“Well. Everyone’s got their stuff, right? It don’t hurt to be careful around it.”

“Huh,” Nina says.

“Qué?”

“Nothing.”

“Nina.”

“It’s noo-thiiing,” Nina sings. “Just, very interesting.”

“ _What’s_ interesting? If you say nothing one more time, I swear —“

“Nada? Nil? Zero? Nix?”

“Fuck your thesaurus brain,” Vanessa says. “Hurry up and show me where you live already.”

“Where _we_ live,” Nina corrects her. “We’re _roomies_ , Vanessa, there’s no escaping me now.”

She cackles, theatrical.

“Dios ayúdame,” Vanessa mutters, crossing herself and turning back to the window to hide her smile. Nina takes a right off the freewayand the streets start getting residential around them. Trees and driveways and lawns _._ Couple of USA flags hanging off the side of houses (no Puerto Rico, no DR, no surprise there).

“Nearly there,” Nina says.

The two of them had made a pact when they were kids, that they’d live together in a big house with all their friends and have parties every day and never be separated by college or dating or arguments. OnlyVanessa had no intention of ever going to college, Nina had no intention of not going, so for all their jokes about Vanessa stowing away in Nina’s suitcase, by the time they were fifteen they knew the wind was blowing them both to different coasts. And now they’re gonna be living together in this Los Gatos suburb, surrounded by houses instead of apartment buildings and businesses. There’s fucking _bungalows_. Nothing stretching up into the big empty sky.

“Remember how we always said we were gonna buy that huge mansion together one day?” Vanessa says.

“With the pool and the waterslide and an ice-cream freezer in every room?”

The car slows to a crawl as they come up on the end of a street that seems so strange and empty, like all the streets have compared to downtown New York.

“And your giant library.”

“And your huge dance studio. Of course I remember.” Nina pulls into a driveway down the side of a small, grey-painted complex stacked only two high, cuts the ignition once she’s in the parking spot marked 1B in white paint. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting waterslides, but here we are. Home sweet home.”

**Usnavi.**

Usnavi closes Ruben’s bedroom door behind him and leans into the living room to beckon Benny out of the apartment. 

“He’s calmed down now, says he needs some space,” he explains as they leave. “You didn’t have to wait for me, man. I appreciate it.”

“Thought you might want some moral support. Besides, been a while since you practiced, don’t wanna get rusty, do you?” Benny jangles his keys questioningly. Usnavi gives a hesitant glance at Ruben’s apartment door, but he _did_ say he wanted to be alone.

“We’re coming right back if he calls me, though,” he says, and follows Benny to the car.

Like always, Benny’s at the wheel on the main streets and they pass most of the day that way, West 184th to Midtown to Battery Park then all the way back up to Inwood. He’s got the easy fearlessness of someone used to navigating a vehicle through Manhattan. Usnavi mostly only ever practiced in quiet places. Probably spent longer in the empty parking lots of other people’s high schools on a weekend than he did studying at his own in that last year before graduation.

Usnavi’s New York City to the bone, subways and elevated trains and foot traffic the arteries and veins that flow life through him, that he flows through. It’s such a rare occasion that he does get in the driver’s seat that he can’t really handle New York nightmare roads, but sometimes Benny decides that Usnavi’s gotten stuck way too long waiting for some metaphorical cancelled train in his life and shoves him in the cab so that he can get moving of his own accord.

That’s the whole reason he’d learnt in the first place, when it felt like he hadn’t been outside since the frostbite morning of their funeral that winter past, like he hadn’t said anything out loud that wasn’t _I’m fine_ or _you want a bag for that?_ for months. Benny had come in one day and literally carried Usnavi out of the bodega to his car, said “you’re learning how to drive”, and an Usnavi Needs A Break tradition started. 

He wouldn’t say he has any _happy_ memories of that time. But Benny humming quietly in the passenger seat as Usnavi circled round and round and round parking lots learning his turns, Kevin Rosario taking some of his off-time every few weekends to take Usnavi further out through Roslyn or Port Harbor, places he never usually had reason to go just for the change of scenery, it’s at least a reassuring memory. It stopped him drowning. All his concentration on _mirror, signal, manoeuvre, stop, go, keep going, keep going,_ and someone always sitting beside him

It was Kevin’s idea, Benny told him later. Nobody had been sure that the store would stay running, nobody had known if Usnavi would graduate. Driving gave him a backup career as well as a distraction.

He could use that backup now if only Kevin still had the dispatch, though Usnavi’s no better at this than he was back then, passing his test probably only by a literal miracle. Worse now he’s out of practice, so it’s lucky the parking lot at Inwood 52 is empty: signals his turns too late, brake goes down too heavy, cuts it too fine on the faded paint marking out the spot so that Benny winces when the side-view mirror comes within a whisper of scratching along the wall beside them. He gets by, skin of his teeth but Usnavi always gets by.

His phone lights up in the centre console a while in. Benny checks it for him and says “Vanessa says she landed safe”, and Usnavi’s relieved for her and relieved that it’ll probably make Ruben feel better too. Keeps the circle moving anyway, hour on hour till the afternoon’s fast fading alongside his focus, and when he’s started to get hopelessly sloppy he reverse-parks one last time, cranks the radio volume so they can hear it from the outside and they get out of the car. 

Benny leans against the door. Usnavi sits on the hood with Big Pun leaking out the open window under the sunset blood red beneath the clouds. The years him and Benny have been doing shit like this together stretch way longer than the distance from Manhattan to San Jose. Things are always still connected. It’s not so far from A to B if you know the right ways to get there.

“I really needed this,” he says. “Thanks, Benny.”

“Any time.”

“Goddamn.” Usnavi lays back against the windshield, raises his hands to watch the fading light behind cast a golden aura round them. “Punisher the real dope. Put on The Sun and The Rain, I gotta have it.”

“I ain’t your DJ,” Benny says, leaning in through the open passenger side window to change the track anyway. “Always saying he’s the shit then you skip half the album. Is Ruben gonna be alright?”

“Heart wants The Sun and The Rain, that’s what I’m gonna give it. He’ll be fine. He’s had worse.”

“Whatever, call it the real dope then jump right past The Dream Shatterer, that’s some bullshit. _You_ gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll cope. _I know the sun won’t wash awa-ay,_ —“ Usnavi sighs. “We do what we can but at the end of the day no matter how much he’s learning to deal with it, it sucks that any of it happened in the first place. It just really fucking sucks to care about someone and know they’ve been through hell, you know? _The ra-ain, keeps fallin’ down—“_

“Yeah,” Benny says. “I do know. You realize it scared the hell out of me when I got that call off Vanessa cryin’ and saying she needed me to take you to urgent care last month? I don’t think I’ve heard Vanessa cry since we were kids. No, we’re listening to The Dream Shatterer now, don’t think I don’t know you’re about to ask me to switch the CD.”

“But my heart wants to listen to New York Giants,” Usnavi says. Benny ignores him. “ _Everything_ scares the hell out of me right now. What if she gets out west and realises she wants something totally different than whatever I’m putting on the table?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Happened to you and Nina, didn’t it?”

“That’s different. Me and Nina really cared about each other, but we only had like two months together before she went back and too much stuff we didn’t have time to resolve. I think we both kinda expected it to end sooner or later even before she left, can’t make things work with that attitude. You and V, you’ve had years to get past all those things. Hell, the both of you fell in love with someone else and that just made you stronger, how many couples can say _that_?”

“I guess that’s true.” Usnavi sits up. “Hey, but if you really had one foot out the door from jump street with Nina then how come you ain’t dated anyone since? It’s been well over a year and I don’t think you’ve called back _any_ of your first dates.”

Benny looks into the sunset for a while then clicks his tongue against his teeth, opens the car door. “We should head back to mine so we’re nearby if Ruben needs you.”

They’re only ten minutes out from Ruben’s place and they’ve been gone all day, but Usnavi knows a closed conversation when he hears it. He’ll let it slide for the time being. 

“Aite,” he says, rolling off the hood. “I’m picking the tunes though. New York Giants, gotta be done.”

 

***

**January 14.**

**Ruben.**

Flashback hangovers aren’t that different from a normal hangover: the day after the airport incident, Ruben’s head aches a little, his stomach hurts a little, he’s tired as hell, but it’s none of it so bad as to instantly ruin his day. Like with hangovers, spending it the right way indulging all his cravings for hugs and gentle words and well-made coffee makes the bad parts almost pleasant, like it’s an excuse to slow down and let himself be taken care of. Usnavi provides all of the above happily.

Or Ruben thinks he’s happy about it for most of the morning, until Usnavi’s clearing up the dishes after lunch and from where he’s reading in the living room Ruben can hear a phone ring, and Usnavi answers it on speaker.

“Benny! What up?”

“Just wanted to check in. You both doing okay? Need another drive?”

“Thanks, man, but nah. I’m gonna spend the day with Ruben, we’re good.”

“He’s welcome to come along too.”

Usnavi doesn’t answer for a moment.

“I think it’s an inside kinda day,” he says eventually, and Ruben gets a cold, grey, regretful feeling in his chest. “I’ll text you in the week, we’ll chill then, yeah?”  
  
“Sounds good.”

Usnavi hangs up and goes right back to singing, like he was before Benny called, but Ruben’s not enjoying it any more. He slouches down on the sofa.

An inside kind of day, meaning, Ruben can’t go outside today, so neither will Usnavi. Ruben can’t go for a drive with Benny so neither will Usnavi. Ruben can’t wait at the airport with his girlfriend so Vanessa had to just sit around alone, and then Usnavi had to take care of Ruben instead of keeping her company while she waited for her flight.

If he can’t even be in an airportfor more than ten minutes, how the hell are they ever gonna go visit Vanessa?

“Cheer up, buttercup,” Usnavi says, sitting down beside Ruben and chucking him under the chin. “Where’s that smile gone all of a sudden?”

“You didn’t have to turn down hanging out with Benny just to look after me,” Ruben says. He takes Usnavi’s hands, both of them, tries to convey how much he means it. “I don’t want to hold you back from anything. I don’t want you to have to miss out on things or give up time with your friends because of me.”

Usnavi turns his hands under Ruben’s so that they’re palm to palm, links their fingers interlocked. “Buddy, I literally got nothing but time right now, I’ll spend it how I want and I want to be here with you. And don’t be like that, they’re your friends too.”

Ruben says nothing.

“…Aren’t they?” Usnavi asks, sounding like he’s worried this is the moment Ruben reveals that he’s secretly hated everyone Usnavi loves this whole time.

“I know I’m mostly just tagging along with you and Vanessa.”

“What? Nobody thinks that. I didn’t know _you_ thought that.”

Ruben’s pretty sure everyone does think that, but whatever. He already resents the hours he lost yesterday to apathetic self-pity, he’s not gonna waste today wallowing too. This is something he’s actually been preparing for.

“It’s fine, I’m working on it. See?” He takes his notebook off the side table and opens it to the relevant page, marked with a green sticky tab for ease of access, passing it to Usnavi. “I have been Gathering Information.”

Ruben likes being prepared for everything. For all he gets verbally nervous in spontaneous conversation, he’s never had an issue with presentations or standing up in front of a class to teach. Sometimes his words don’t work, but when he’s confident that he knows what he’s talking about he’s _really_ good at it. So it seems logical that to be more confident with people he needs to feel like he knows stuff about them. And people like feeling known, too. That’s something he’s learned over the years even if he’s not been able to put it into practice very effectively: keeping track of the little things makes people feel good. Favorite colors, favorite songs, how they take their coffee, birthdays, any details he can get.

“Holy hell, you sure have,” Usnavi says. He makes a weird eyebrow face. “This is very thorough.”

“Thank you,” Ruben says absently, skim-reading through the list too, then Usnavi’s tone hits a few seconds later and he takes the notebook back, slamming it closed and holding it protectively to his chest. “Wait, thorough in a bad way? It’s only stuff that I’ve been told outright, I haven’t been poking around or anything. Oh, but I’d probably be freaked out if I found out someone had a big list of information about me. Not that I’ve told anyone I’ve been doing this. Should I tell people? Is it weirder to have a _secret_ list of things I know about people or to tell them about it? Oh _no,_ am I accidentally stalking everyone? This is why I have no friends, isn’t it?”

_Stop talking, Ruben._ Maybe he’s a little bit more delicate than he thought today. Usnavi holds his hands out in a placating _slow down_ gesture _._

“No no no,” he says. “Come on. First of all _I’m_ your friend, so you can shut the fuck up with that, and second…I mean, it’s not like you’re hacking their private messages. I notice stuff like this in my head all the time, it’s not so different from that, a journal’s just like external storage for when you run out of room up top, right? And you’ve already got so much up there, so obviously you need extra space, otherwise your head would have to be like five times bigger than it is to keep it all and if you did…well, honestly, I’d probably still find you hot but it’d be really hard for all three of us to fit in a double bed together, it’s already kinda crowded. Is that what they mean with that phrase, three’s a crowd?”

“Yes, that very common phrase definitely means exactly that impossible scenario,” Ruben says, then to clarify, “so…this is okay?” because sometimes it’s hard to pick out Usnavi’s actual point around all the words it takes to make it.

“We good,” Usnavi says. “Uh, I maybe wouldn’t mention it to anyone else just yet, though.”

“No?”

“I don’t see a problem with it but not everyone knows you as well as I do to get why you do it. And you know you don’t need to memorize all this stuff about people for them to like you? Just be yourself, yourself is awesome.”

“This _is_ me being myself.”

“Okay, fine then, but what are you gonna actually _do_? Can’t just make notes forever, hermoso.”

“I,” Ruben says, pauses for effect, “am going to initiate a social interaction.”

“Wow,” Usnavi says, appropriately impressed. “That’s fantastic, querido, with who?”

Ruben looks at him.

“It doesn’t count if it’s me,” Usnavi adds.

“Yes, obviously, but I don’t know who’s the best option yet. You know everyone super well, can you help me?”

“Sure, gimme the book. Hm. So you’ve got it here that you’ve already spent a bunch of time with Camila one-on-one, how about her? I know for a fact she already loves you so that’s a pretty easy place to start.”

“Okay then,” Ruben says uncertainly. “And I just…text her? Asking her to socially interact with me?”

“Uh, that’s a little formal. And unspecific. Ask if she wants to come have coffee on Monday.”

“What if she’s busy on Monday?”

“Then she’ll tell you and you can arrange it for Tuesday instead, Ruben, it ain’t Monday or death. You can say it’s an invite from both of us if that makes you feel better.”

“Can you do it for me?”

“I think that might defeat the point.”

“Ugh. Fine, hand me my laptop, I need to figure out what I’m gonna say.”

“On your computer? Why, are you composing her an essay?” Usnavi asks, leaning over to pick up Ruben’s laptop off the floor.

“What, I’m supposed to just draft it out in the text box? Are you insane? What if I accidentally hit send before it’s ready?”

“You’re right, I’ve been a fool.”

“Don’t laugh! I’m very new at this.”

“I’m not laughing!” Usnavi says, even though he clearly is, but it makes Ruben feel better anyway because Usnavi’s laugh is never mean and always just sounds genuinely happy. “I just really fuckin’ love you, I hope you know that.”

“Thank you,” Ruben says with as much dignity as possible.

It takes ten minutes and Usnavi constantly saying that Ruben doesn’t need to think so hard about it when he could literally just send her the coffee emoji and a question mark but he finally gets something he’s happy enough with to type up on his phone. Then check for typos. And then check again. And then adding an emoji to make it more casual then deleting the emoji because maybe it looks like he’s trying too hard and then eventually just hovering his thumb over the send button without any more excuses about why he’s procrastinating.

“You have to presssss iiiiit,” Usnavi whispers in his ear. It tickles: Ruben squirms away. “Were you this nervous the first time you initiated a hangout with me?”

“Oh my god, no, I was a thousand times worse, are you kidding me? I already had a huge crush on you by then and kept wondering if it was really obvious, at least I don’t have to worry that I’ll accidentally lose control of myself and start making out with Camila.” With a jerky suddenness before he loses his nerve Ruben hits send and then flings his phone across the couch as soon as he does, totally involuntarily.“Augh! Okay, I did it.”

“Yaaay! I’m proud of you.”

Ruben leans into the victory kiss Usnavi plants on his mouth then picks his phone back up. “She hasn’t replied yet, Usnavi.”

“Oh, boy,” Usnavi says. “This is gonna be a long day, isn’t it?”

***

**Trio.**

“You’re gonna be late, Usnavi, hurry up! You have two minutes! One minute fifty-five! One minute f—”  
  
“I am trying to _brew_!” Usnavi calls back. “You can’t rush art.”

“One minute thirty!”

“Pouring!”

“One minute!” Ruben yells. “Aaaah!”

“Aaaaah!” Usnavi shouts, coming into the bedroom and setting two mugs down on the desk, then setting himself down on Ruben.

“There’s another chair.”

“ _You’re_ another chair.”

“Do you think it looks too eager for us to be here on the edge of our seats? Or the edge of my lap, in your case. She probably won’t call precisely on the hour.”

“We should let it ring for a while,” Usnavi says. “Fashionably late. Makes us seem cooler.”

Seventeen seconds after the hour, Vanessa’s name lights up Facetime and Usnavi immediately answers, fumbling around the trackpad in his excitement.

“IT’S YOU,” he hollers when he finally manages to pick up the call. “RUBEN, IT’S VANESSA!”

“Vanessa García!” Ruben says, playing an excited little drumroll against Usnavi’s back.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she asks, amused.

Ruben shrugs. “Maybe. It’s been a whole day, anything could’ve happened. Your phone might’ve been hacked. Or this is a Face/Off situation and you’re actually John Travolta disguised as Vanessa. Or you could’ve uploaded your consciousness into an android body.“

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Perv.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry to disappoint but I’ve not even had time to unpack my suitcase yet, never mind go out and find a cyborg body.”

“Actually, a cyborg isn’t the same thing as — you know what? Never mind, tell us about California!“

Usnavi bounces with excitement. Ruben grabs him round the waist before he falls off his lap. “Yes, tell us everything! What’s Nina’s place like? Are your housemates nice? Have you bumped into Steve Jobs yet?”

“Honey, Steve Jobs has been dead for years,” Vanessa says. “And yeah, they seem pretty cool, we all hung out and had a couple bottles of wine last night. You want me to show you round?”

“Yes!”

She spins aside to give a better view. “¡Bueno! So. This is my room, it has walls and a window and some blinds. I haven’t done anything with it yet so there’s not much to say. Oh, except for the best part —“ she turns her laptop and gestures grandly behind her. “Single bed.”

“Yikes,” Usnavi says. “You know that’s getting broken first night we come to stay with you, right?”

“Without a doubt. Okay, let’s take a walking tour.”

Camera jostling as she carries the laptop around, Vanessa shows them her living room with the mismatched cushions and rugs and art, the small kitchen with the bright curtains and various used mugs, all the decor clearly the product of several people pooling items they already owned together with no cohesive aesthetic, but there’s something cute about how slapdash it is. She shows them outside, too: a square of concrete out back of the apartment complex with the tiniest patch of grass at one end, but she grins at them and says “I have a _yard_ , you guys, isn’t this incredible?”

“You’re really living the life,” Usnavi agrees. “Where’s Nina at?”

“In her room. Hold up, let’s see if she’s free.” She takes them back inside and knocks on a door. At the _come in!,_ she opens it to Nina lying on her bed surrounded by textbooks, her feet up at the pillow end and a pad of lined paper next to her that she’s scribbling notes into without even looking.

“Hey, nerd, say hi to my other nerds.”

“Hi, nerds,” Nina says with a wave in their vague direction, still reading.

“Hey, Nina,” they chorus.

“She drank just as much as me last night and was already studying when I got up this morning,” Vanessa tells the boys. “Maybe _Nina’s_ the one who’s been uploaded into a robot body.”

“Ha, I should be so lucky,” Nina says, tearing her eyes away from her book to carefully select a green highlighter and draw it through a line of her work.

“Oh, this brings back memories,” Ruben says. “The neck pain, the ink all over the bedsheets…”

“The falling asleep reading and dropping books on your face,” Nina agrees, and Ruben sighs nostalgically. “College is so great, you guys, so great and not killing me at all.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa says. Nina nods and says “bye, nerds,” finally tilting her head back so she can look at them properly as they leave.

Vanessa carries the laptop back to her desk, does one full rotation in her spinny desk chair and catches herself against the desk when she’s facing forward again to ask, “so what have you guys been up to without me?”

Ruben says, “I sent a text to Camila asking if she wanted to have coffee with us. All on my own. Well, Usnavi proofread it for me, but I wrote it.”

“Babe, that’s _fantastic!_ ” she says. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t count your chickens before their coffee date, it still might all go terribly wrong.”

“You’ll be fine, Camila loves you,” she assures him. “What about you, Usnavi, any gossip?”

“Not really,” Usnavi says. “I was thinking this morning about growing a mustache? Like a big Tom Selleck mustache. And I went for a drive with Benny yesterday. That’s about it.”

“You can’t grow a big Tom Selleck mustache. You can barely grow a Tom Holland mustache and he’s a twelve year old who doesn’t have a mustache.”

“That’s why I was only _thinking_ about it, duh. Ain’t you supposed to be nicer to me now that you’re far away and pining?”

“I never signed a contract on that.” Vanessa says. “Sounds like a wild weekend all round then.”

“You know how we do.”

She smiles at them fondly for a moment then says, “Sorry to love you and leave you so soon but I gotta head out for a bit now, if that’s okay? I need to buy a whole load of stuff I forgot to bring while I still got time, Aubrey and Violet invited me to dinner with a couple of their friends so I’m gonna try and drag Nina away from the books and make her come with.”

“Call us when you finish work tomorrow so we can hear all about your first day?”

“Of course,” she says, and blows a kiss to the camera. Ruben catches it: she beams at him. “Big big love, babes, don’t forget me.”

“Not in a million years.”

“God, isn’t she just the best?” Usnavi sighs dreamily after they hang up, still staring at the now dormant Facetime window.

“Yup,” Ruben says. “Looks like she’s having a good time already.”

“Yup,” Usnavi says. “Busy. Sociable. Very fulfilling.”

“Yup,” Ruben says. “We’re really boring in comparison, aren’t we?”

“Yup,” Usnavi says.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n: this chapter done got dirty at the end, don't read it at work]

**Monday, January 15.**

**Vanessa.**

Vanessa flings her arm out to the side when she wakes up not expecting to end up with it hanging off the bed into empty space where she’d been anticipating either Usnavi or at least a section of mattress which had recently contained Usnavi.

Single bed. Right. She’ll get used to it. Time’s gotta do most of the work on making the place home: two days isn’t enough for her to not feel intrusive wandering around the apartment and using the shower and taking food out of the fridge. It’s her stuff and her room and her food, but it’s not _hers_ yet.

Nina’s up already and sitting at the tiny kitchen table. Strange and familiar at once, walking into someone eating breakfast cereal with their face buried in a book and it’s only the fact Vanessa is still instinctively operating in houseguest mode that she makes the effort to say “‘sup, Nina, whatcha readin’?” instead of the disgruntled mash of consonants she always gives to Ruben at this hour.

“Book,” Nina says, holding it forward so Vanessa can read the cover herself. Calvino. _Invisible Cities_. Never heard of it.

“For school?”  
  
“For fun.”

“What’s it about?  


“You want the Nina answer or the short answer?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning. The Nina answer might kill me.”

Nina taps her fingers against the cover thoughtfully. “Home, I guess,” she says. “All the different homes a city can hold. Or all the different cities that can hold your hometown inside them even when you’re far away, maybe. One of my favorites right now, I’ve read it a couple times already this year. You can borrow it once I’m done,” she adds. “You’d like it.”

Vanessa shrugs. Nina’s always trying to get her to read stuff. Vanessa, like most non-Nina people, can’t get through an entire novel in a single afternoon and rarely takes her up on the suggestions. “Maybe.”

A cloud of curls in oversized pajamas flings the door open and nearly knocks Vanessa off her feet. 

“Nina, have you seen my—oh, Jesus!” Aubrey says, jumping back. Violet, immediately behind her, steadies her with a hand on her hip. “Scared the shit out of me, hi, Vanessa! I forgot we had someone else living with us. Hey, it’s your first day of work today, right?”

“Yup,” Vanessa says, and then malfunctions trying to come up with an interesting second part to the sentence. It’s so _early_ to have to be a human.

Violet shoos Aubrey out of the way to get at the fridge. “You’ll have to excuse her. She’s a _morning person_.”

She says it like a swear word and takes a pointed swig from the carton to punctuate.

“Uh, that’s everyone’s milk?” Nina objects.

“I got a morning person too,” Vanessa commiserates.

“Ah, so you moved here to escape?”

“I’m going to ignore that,” Aubrey says, tying her hair in a topknot out of the way of her face. “Babe, have you seen my—“

“They’re on the table in the living room.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to —“

“Keys.”

“How—“

“Because we have this conversation every day. You always throw them on the sofa when you get in. I always put them on the table so you don’t lose them. You always ask me where they are. They’re always on the table.”

Huh. Is that genuine annoyance, or just affectionate exasperation? Nina had said Aubrey and Violet moved in together out of necessity after only a couple months dating. Over the two days she’s been here Vanessa’s heard _several_ conversations almost exactly like this one, and she still can’t read the vibe.

Whatever, it’s none of Vanessa’s business. And she doesn’t really care, to be honest. If it’s not scandalous enough to be exciting then other people’s relationship politics are just tiring. This is why she doesn’t like living with people.

She sips her instant coffee, grimaces and says “gotta admit the morning person does have his perks.”

“There’s a decent place by the train station,” Nina says. “But I’ve not found anyone to match up to Usnavi here yet.”

“That’s fine, he’d never forgive me if I did.”

Nina’s right, obviously, the coffee place by the station does not match up to Usnavi, or even to Ruben, but it’s a million times better than instant. And drinking it is something to keep Vanessa’s mind occupied for a while she’s on the train, the journey too new for her to zone out and daydream like she would on the subway in New York, and she’s too…something.

Not nervous. Vanessa does not do nervous. First impressions aren’t her favourite thing and first days are full of them, but she can do them if she has to, it’s just she rarely wants to. Usually being aggressively Vanessa is a good way of weeding out the weak ones who are only gonna bitch about her personality later down the line, but that only works when you can cut someone out. If you’re stuck living or working with them then alienating them from jump isn’t the best plan. 

Alert, that’s what she is. Still sleepy but alert like poised waiting for a signal, same as her first day at Moda NY a few months after she moved downtown. Back then, Dani’s new salon in the Bronx was there, with the unspoken understanding that if Vanessa really screwed this new job up or hated it she’d still have something to fall back on. Out here she’s in the wilderness.

Still. It’s not a wilderness so different from what she’s used to, waiting on the seats in the foyer while the sharp-dressed man on the front desk informs her new boss that she’s arrived. Idly watching the people passing in and out of the building she can see faint hints of the old offices in the new folk: who’s clients, who’s staff, who wants to be here and who’s just here for a paycheck. 

There’s not too long to play detective with it though, because a woman who can only be Flora Cartwright descending on her. A name that sounds like it belongs to a soft-spoken 90-year-old grandmother attached to a lionness in impractically sharp heels that even Vanessa would have trouble walking in. Flora walks as confident and rhythmic as a military general, if military generals sashayed.

“Are you Vanessa?” she asks, eyes Vanessa like she’s deciding whether to eat her.

As if it’s the first time Vanessa’s gotten that look, though she’ll admit Flora is a pro at it. Vanessa meets the stare head-on and sticks her hand out and says “I am, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Cartwright”, handshake firm and confident the way Kevin Rosario once spent an afternoon teaching her and Nina to perfect.

“Flora is fine,” she says, and leads the way to her office with her battlefield-runway walk. 

Vanessa’s assessment of Flora in the first two seconds of seeing her was _this lady takes no shit_ and nothing in the meeting changes her mind on that. No icebreaker questions or personal chitchat, forthright teetering on the edge of rude. They jump almost immediately to work talk: Flora informs her that while they’re allowing her this first week as an adjustment period where she’ll basically be doing her old job, after that things are unpredictable and Vanessa will be expected to adapt to schedule changes with relatively short notice.

That’s no problem. Vanessa likes unpredictable.

“We’d rather you stay in the office during work hours at least for the first two weeks to get the lay of the land but after that it’s flexible provided you aren’t required on site. Don’t waste my time calling in a work from home day, just remember to clock in and out online. The only excuse I’ll accept for missing a shoot or a meeting is if you die before it starts,” Flora says, then sets the papers she was reading from down on the desk and steeples her fingers under her chin, staring at Vanessa. “Any questions?”

“Yes, when do I get to start taking pictures?” Vanessa says. Like, the rest of this is stuff she was doing back home, she wants to get to the _fun_ part.

“Your first shoot is scheduled for Tuesday, but you’ll only be shadowing for a while. After that, progress really depends on your performance. I’d also suggest working on your individual portfolio outside of company hours. Do you have access to your own equipment?”

“I was led to understand that this position would allow me explore the options before I make an investment in my own setup,” Vanessa says, half-bullshit professionalism tripping easy off her tongue. Flora doesn’t need to know that being a photographer hadn’t even occurred to Vanessa till she got offered this internship back in November and that for all she knows she’ll hate it, or that she don’t know shit about shit when it comes to the technicalities of photography. Nobody ever got successful by telling the truth, after all. She can play the game and learn as she goes.

“We can sign you out a company camera for two weeks at a time, but I’d really recommend you get your own as soon as possible.”

“Sure, no problem,” Vanessa says smoothly, also not mentioning that there’s no way in hell she can afford a decent camera right now.

“If that’s all I won’t keep you any longer, Todd will show you around and answer any other questions you have,” Flora says, standing and reaching out her hand to shake again. “Welcome aboard, Vanessa. We have high expectations of everyone who works with us and there were plenty of people hoping to be offered this internship, so I hope that you’ll do great things with this opportunity.”

Vanessa trusts her read on the boss and says, “I _only_ do great things.”

It wins her a short, rough laugh. First impression nailed.

***

**Tuesday, January 16.**

**Usnavi**

Vanessa always says that Usnavi’s way too much of a morning person, but that’s just because she’s never up when he’s still trying to kick into gear. Usnavi wakes up blurry, body working long before his brain catches up. Slow registering the ambient sounds that mean Vanessa’s place, coconut scent that means Ruben close as he leans over Usnavi to turn off the alarm on his phone. Automatic movement of getting up and pulling out three mugs to put some fuel in everyone’s tanks.

At the third click of ceramic on countertop Usnavi pauses, ghost of a pneumonia stab in his lungs. Not three.

“Still awake?” Ruben asks, suddenly next to him and clicking his fingers in front of Usnavi’s face. He’s better acquainted with fuzzy first-thing Usnavi than Vanessa.

“Hm?”

“Asked what your plans are today.”

Usnavi puts the extra mug away and says “I’ma try and start writing my resume,” because it’s the first thing that comes to mind that isn't “this motherfucker of a cup just gave me a real bad de ja vu and I’m going back to sleep all day until it goes away.”

“I thought you weren’t gonna start looking for work til you were feeling better.”

“I’m feeling better-ish? And I figure if I do a little bit whenever I can then it’s one less thing to deal with when I am ready to start looking proper.”

“You never slow down for long, do you?”

“Born fast livin’ fast,” he says, leaning sideways to put his head on the counter and watch the coffee drip into the pot. “But once I make this I’m gonna get back in bed and watch TV till you leave, ‘cause I’m getting pro at this  relaxing thing.”

He kinda is, too, middle-grounding things for maybe the first time in his life. Not old Usnavi constantly rushing from the second he wakes up. Not recent Usnavi staying awake most of the night then depression-napping all morning, or at least it’s been a whole six dayssince that last happened. Currently just blanket-time Usnavi, wrapped in a quilt eating toast with a stream of that old 90s Batman cartoon going. It reminds him of staying over at Abuela’s on weekends as a kid, when she’d make him breakfast and they’d spend all morning watching Saturday cartoons on her tiny black-and-white TV in their pajamas. Except for the bit where Ruben slides back into bed fully-dressed to watch the show and make out with him, obviously.

It’s such a good way to kill time before Ruben has to leave that they lose track completely, until Ruben checks his watch and double-takes away from Usnavi’s face. “ _Shoot_ , I was supposed to leave five minutes ago!”

Usnavi tugs him back by the tie. “But if you stay then there’s Batman and bed and boyfriend?”

“God, don’t— mm —don’t tempt me,” Ruben says, around kisses. He tastes toothpastey. “I already push it with the days off, and I don’t think _my boyfriend is cute_ will play as sympathetic as the _I have_ _debilitating PTSD_ angle.”

“I dunno, have you tried showing them a picture of me?”

It’s futile, obviously, but can’t blame a guy for trying. Usnavi lies around a few more minutes after Ruben leaves but now it’s just boring and empty, so he shakes the toast crumbs out of the sheets on Vanessa’s bed, takes a shower with Vanessa’s shampoo, dries off with one of Vanessa’s towels, determined to get some momentum. He’s not gonna get hung up on the too many mugs set out anticipating the presence of someone who isn’t here to drink from them, the boxes he hasn’t unpacked yet, the fact he has no goddamn clue how to write a resume. Don’t think, just do.

Usnavi grabs a notebook out of Vanessa’s desk, sits on the couch with his bare feet kicked up on one of his boxes like a footstool. Stares at the paper intently, tapping a rhythm with his pen.

Close to half an hour later, he’s only managed to come up with:

 

“Well, that ain’t it,” he says aloud to himself, frustrated.

There’s always the option of abandoning it but no, he’s getting things _done_ today, so he runs across the room to pick up his laptop from the bed, accidentally ripping the charger out as he scurries back to the couch with it. No wonder he keeps breaking the damn things but no time to worry about it: he’s found that sometimes if he can’t muster up genuine motivation for something he can trick himself into it just by adding velocity. 

Music on in the background to help him concentrate, then Usnavi googles _how to write a resume,_ opens twenty tabs in quick succession and closes nineteen of them without reading because he absolutely cannot get stuck in a loop of rereading the same thing phrased differently for the whole day and it’s bound to happen if he lets himself start. Pretty soon he’s constructing the skeleton of a new resume, name and contact details at the top, subheadings for the sections he needs, and he’s feeling good until he realises he’s written his old 184th Street address. The one for the bodega, at that, not even his own apartment number.

“Son of a bitch,” he says, crossing it out. His hand twinges with a cramp before he can write down Vanessa’s address in its place, like it always does when he’s stressed about whatever he’s writing. Dumbass stupid hands got no business always making things harder than they need to be. He throws the pen down and walks away. Walks back. Walks away again to the door where his sneakers are and he’s not even thinking while he pulls his shoes on. Halfway down the stairs he realises he’s automatically started going to the bodega to get a packet of cigarettes and turns around with a sigh. He’s quit on both of those but he keeps forgetting.

Upstairs, laptops still playing that reggaeton vibe, paper’s still got that wrong address. He’d kinda hoped it’d fix itself while he was gone.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he says again with extra feeling, and adds “hijo de puta” to cover all bases. Fuck it, he scrawls a few lines as fast as possible despite the cramp, grabs his nearly-empty mug and pretty much throws himself out of the window onto Vanessa’s fire escape.

He drinks cold coffee and thinks about his own fire escape, where Mamá used to teach him clapping games, sitting in the summertime with an old tatter-edged towel under them so the hot metal wouldn’t burn their bare legs, and she’d listen with pride when he’d make up his own lyrics to fit her rhythms. His fire escape where he always tried to hide while he did his homework so his parents wouldn’t see him struggling to the point of tears with it. They always knew he was there: Pai would come out and say “dry those eyes, Usnavi, let your troubles fly away”. Then he’d take one of Usnavi’s discarded pages of mistakes and fold it deftly into a paper airplane that he’d throw over the railing, even though Mamá told Usnavi off for littering whenever he did that himself. This isn’t his fire escape where he’d sit alone and smoke his secret cigarettes years later.

But, he reasons, it _is_ Vanessa’s, outside an apartment where he’s laughed and cried and fucked countless times, where he’s had dinner and nightmares and stomach flu, sweet lazy Sundays and relieved end-of-work weekdays where he’s been so happy to open that front door and collapse tiredly onto Vanessa’s couch like it’s home. He’s stood on this fire escape to watch quiet sunsets with Vanessa, quiet sunrises with Ruben like he did at his own place, view different but always the same sun.

Alright.

Back inside, he checks his sheet of paper, Vanessa’s apartment address now written there, a scribble barely readable by human eyes and without the zip code because Usnavi can’t remember it. Nothing even close to a resume yet. It’s still more than he’s achieved on basically anything in the past month combined.

“Bueno,” he says, pleased, then he sits on the floor by the couch to open all his boxes till he finds his favorite photo of his parents that he’s always kept by his bed, and carefully stands the frame on Vanessa’s bedside table.

 

***

**Ruben.**

  
“Why are you cleaning on top of the fridge?” Usnavi asks.

“Because we’re having guests,” Ruben says. The kitchen chair he’s standing on wobbles dangerously underneath his feet.

“We’re having Camila.”

“Yes, and I don’t want her to think I live in _squalor._ ” He gestures around himself, at all the squalor. Has he ever even cleaned the top of the fridge since he moved in? It’s very dusty up here.

“Chill out, you’re gonna fall off that chair.”

“I will not chill out,” Ruben says, waving his cloth at Usnavi frantically. “I am going to _unchill in_ and nobody can stop me.”

“I think you’re panicking, hermoso.”

“Really?! Hadn’t noticed!”

The buzzer sounding almost does make him fall off the chair. He catches himself and checks his watch. “She’s five minutes early, Usnavi! I’ve not finished cleaning yet.”

“The hell’s even left to clean?” Usnavi says, looking around. “You worried she’s gonna check inside the microwave for spillages?”

“The _microwave,”_ Ruben says to himself. “I didn’t even _think_ about the microwave.”

“I’ll get the door, then?” Usnavi says. Ruben stays on his chair to continue panicking quietly from a high altitude.

“Hey, Camila!” he hears Usnavi say through the intercom. “Come up! You want coffee? I’ll make it, Ruben’s busy spiralling.”

“I AM NOT,” Ruben shouts from the kitchen. “Usnavi, you can’t just say things like that!”

“Why not?” Usnavi asks, which Ruben doesn’t have a good answer for because _it’s just not what people do_ is true but never an answer Ruben accepts when anyone else gives it to him and he knows Usnavi knows that.

“Because…I’m the host so I’m supposed to make the drinks,” he says lamely, coming out into the hallway as Usnavi opens the front door. “Hi Camila, I’m not spiralling, how are you, I’m fine, how’s it going, how are you?”

“Hello, Rubén,” she says, exchanging a half-amused, half-concerned glance with Usnavi. “I think we’ve known each other long enough that you don’t need to stand to attention, I’m just your neighbor, not the president.”

“As if I’d have made this much effort for him,” Ruben says, taking Camila’s coat and showing her through. “Please, sit down. Or don’t if you don’t want to, your choice, I don’t know?”

“Rubén,” Camila says, very gently. “Do you need to take a minute?”

“…I’ll go make drinks,” he says, partly because she is absolutely right that he needs a minute but also because the other option is him sitting alone in a room with her while Usnavi does it, and while he’s had conversations alone with Camila before it’s always been her initiating it. It's different when he's the one who started it, that means it's his fault if it goes wrong.

Also, this way Usnavi, god bless the man and his innate ability to talk indefinitely about literally nothing, has already got conversation going by the time Ruben gets back. He manages to slide himself into it, taking his cues from Usnavi for when to laugh or when to nod, even makes a few comments that make them both laugh properly, not just politely. Smalltalk isn’t his wheelhouse but the predictability is reassuring. How are you, we’ve been having weather, did you hear a mutual acquaintance did a thing this week. Ruben’s work, Camila’s work, Usnavi’s not-work but he’s been busy getting used to Vanessa’s apartment kinda belonging to him, so they talk about that for a while, teasing him about what Vanessa will say when she gets back and he’s Usnavi’d the place up.

“I’m sure she’ll just be happy if it’s still standing,” Ruben says.

Camila says, “It _is_ still standing, isn’t it, cariño?”

“Yes, Camila, somehow the building didn’t collapse as soon as Vanessa left,” Usnavi says in a long-suffering tone, with an eye-roll for good measure. She swats at him. “Ow. No, I been taking good care of the house while my lady is away earning the dough, because I’m a modern and competent man.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re finally slowing down a little,” she says. “Now if only Nina would do the same.”

“Ha! That’ll be the day,” Usnavi says.

Camila shakes her head in resigned agreement. “¿No es la verdad? Thank God Vanessa’s going to be living there for a while, if anyone can talk sense into her…”

Ruben frowns, confused. “But Vanessa said that you guys always thought she’s a bad influence on Nina.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Camila raises her eyebrows. Usnavi makes an _oops_ face. Ruben reviews his previous sentence in his head, and instantly wants to die. Shit, that sounded bad, didn’t it?

“Please don’t assume my husband’s opinions are my own,” Camila says. Her voice is still pleasant but even Ruben can read the warning in it. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we share the same views on everything. Or even on most things.”

He’s a fucking idiot.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I d-, I d-. I didn’t, um.”

Here’s his fucking stutter, now, too. Fantastic.

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” Camila says, when he fails to finish his sentence. “Just so long as you know that I’ve always hoped for the best for Vanessa. She’s a good girl, and she’s been a very good friend to Nina,and I’ve told Kevin as much _plenty_ of times.”

“Mmhm,” Ruben says, because that’s all he can get out. Camila smiles kindly at him but it doesn’t make that sick sudden _I did something wrong_ feeling stop burning like a fire, though he knows he’s massively overreacting.

“So how is Vanessa enjoying her new job?” she asks brightly. The question is aimed at Ruben but he looks pleadingly at Usnavi, because he just knows if he tries to talk it isn’t gonna come out, or at least isn’t gonna come out right.

Usnavi pats him on the knee, a silent _I got you_ , and picks up the conversation as though nothing has happened, but even though Ruben can see the gaps where he could jump in he’s lost whatever confidence he had. His own silence echoes like a shout every time he misses what’s obviously his cue to talk. By the time Usnavi asks him something directly Ruben’s anxiety is so loud he just says “uh, sure, be right back, bathroom,” without really hearing what Usnavi said.

He hides in the bathroom with his eyes and chest aching, lips pressed tight together, feeling exactly like he used to as a kid getting yelled at by his dad, back when he was still around. Come on, he needs to get it the fuck together. He’s a grown-ass adult who said one thoughtless thing, it’s fine. She didn’t even shout. And even if she had done he’s a _grown-ass adult._

Ohh, he needs some socially-capable reassurance.

 

 

This time the conversation lulls as he comes back out: they must have been talking about him. Ruben tries to pretend nothing happened like Vanessa said, he does try, but he just can’t seem to _talk_ and so after about ten minutes Camila says, “well, I’d better be off, I’ll leave you boys to it.”

At the door she gives Usnavi a kiss on the cheek and a stern “you look after yourself, now”. Then, to Ruben’s surprise, she kisses his cheek too, and says “it was very good to see you, Rubén, I’d love to do this again?”

Ruben nods politely. When she’s gone, he stands in the hallway chewing on his sleeve.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout there, mi querido?” Usnavi asks from behind him, voice sweet with concern.

“I…said I’d call Vanessa,” Ruben says, hurrying past Usnavi to the living room and opening his laptop, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself level.

“Hey gang,” Vanessa says when she picks up. “How’d it end up?”

“Well,” Ruben says, “I insulted her and probably made trouble for you and hid in the bathroom and then made things so uncomfortable that she left, so you be the judge.”

Usnavi shakes his head. “It was fine, honestly, Vanessa, he was nervous but it wasn’t nearly so bad as that. And he didn’t really insult her, she just did her Nina’s Mom Voice at him.”

“Ah, the Voice, scary stuff,” Vanessa says. “ It’s not gonna make trouble for me, Ruben. You think this shit ain’t already out in the open? I’ve known the Rosarios literally my whole life, any beefs are very visible beefs. We cool anyway.”

“I still fucked it up,” Ruben says, firmly resolved to carry on feeling bad about this now that he’s started. There’s a thick tearful feeling in his sinuses.

“No, dude,” Usnavi says. “I promise, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it, I’ve said _way_ worse to her over the years.”

Ruben shrugs wordlessly.

“She said she’d like to do it again some time, didn’t she?”  
  
“That’s just what people say.”

“And when you were in the bathroom she was worried about how upset it made you because she didn’t want you to feel bad,” Usnavi says, as determined to lift the mood as Ruben is to wallow in it, “And she kissed us both on the cheek when she left, which she don’t do if she’s legit pissed. You’re fine, buddy.”

“Ha,” Vanessa says, “so it’s definitely like we always been saying, right?”

“Right?”Usnavi says.

“What?” Ruben asks.

“I mean, nobody is surprised,“ Vanessa says.

“About _what_?” Ruben says, agitated. Maybe they don’t mean to but talking around stuff makes him feel left out and confused and stupid all over again. “Stop being oblique. Nobody is surprised that I couldn’t manage one coffee date like a functioning human person?”

“Damn, boy, cool those jets,” Usnavi says. “No, nobody’s surprised that she’s mom-zoned you, is what.”

“…I don’t know what that means _.”_

“Ah, let me educate you,” Vanessa says, putting her glasses on with a flourish and giving Ruben a very teacherly look. “You’re familiar with the concept of the friendzone?”

“You told me about it and said it’s misogynist bullshit for creeps who can’t deal with rejection.”

“Absolutely, yes. But, creepiness aside, it’s where you go into a relationship lookin’ for non-platonic when the other person has already categorised it as platonic. So this is a similar thing, except it’s where you try to be normal friends with someone who’s already decided _yes, this is one of my children._ You’re tryna be friends with Camila the way she’s friends with Dani or Carla, but she’s already made her choice and you’re mom-zoned, nada que hacer, so it changes the vibe.”

“Is this an actual thing or did you guys make it up?”

“We came up with the word,” Usnavi says. “The phenomenon is global.”

Ruben nods, parses it all out until it has any kind of meaning, and then makes an aggrieved sound, massaging his temples. “Why are people so _complicated_?!”

“You’re people too, Ruben.”

“You take that back!”

“It was inevitable,” Usnavi says. “We’re around Nina’s age and she knew us from babies so obviously we were in the mom-zone from day one, and now you’re one of us so you’re like, kid-by-association. Plus there’s your whole…uh.”

“My whole uh?”

Usnavi gives Ruben a faintly apologetic smile. “You, um, have this vibe that makes people wanna take care of you. Like, fully transcends the mom-zone, I’m surprised strangers in the street don’t stop you and check that you’re getting enough sleep or if you want anything to eat.”

“An aura of _this boy needs a hot drink and a hug,”_ Vanessa confirms. “Even caught me with it, you sneaky motherfucker, and I’m eighty percent dead inside. We assumed you knew.”

“Nothing about my life before now has indicated that I inspire a caring instinct in people,” Ruben says. There’s obviously only one reason why that would’ve changed. “I don’t want people to be nice to me out of pity.”

“No, no,” Usnavi backtracks. “No, that’s not what I’m sayin’. We don’t pity you, we think you’re badass. We just also wanna try and look out for you, is all I meant.”

“Hm,” Ruben says, slightly mollified. He’s not sure he’s ever been called badass before but he likes it. And being cared for is nice, it’s really nice but… “Y’know, it’s funny, I’ve gone from being a kid who can _only_ talk to adults to feeling like too much of a kid to talk to other adults now I am one. I want to feel like an equal and it’s so goddamn hard.”

“It’s more a Camila thing than a you thing,” Vanessa says. “It’s just how she is about some people, it’s not like she thinks you’re actually a child. She’s the exact same with Usnavi.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Look, I really like Camila, I do, she’s amazing and she’s so nice, and I don’t mean to be so dramatic or whatever. It’s just, I dunno, thinking about it in this way’s kind of bummed me out. Do you ever feel like you forgot the middle step growing up and now you’re just some weird baby-adult hybrid?”

“Oh my God, for sure,” Vanessa says.

“Literally every day of my life,” Usnavi says.

That surprises him. “Really?”

“I mean, yeah,” Usnavi says, with his thoughtful head-tilt. “After my folks passed there was a bunch of stuff I had to learn _muy_ pronto otherwise I’da been fucked. One day I’m in high school then suddenly I was running a business and an apartment and god knows what else without a safety net. So some shit had to take priority and I never found time for the other things people my age were doing.”

“Like taking time off for yourself,” Ruben guesses.

“Exactly. I’ve gotten better at fun since Vanessa,” Usnavi says, aiming a smile her direction. “But yeah. I always feel like some stuff got left behind in the shuffle.”

“I spent my whole childhood feeling like I was older than everyone my age,” Ruben says. “Or having to act that way because I was younger than everyone at college so I had to show I’d earned my place there. And then it’s like everything froze and now I’m years behind my age.”

“I…don’t get me wrong, I get what you mean, but I don’t think it’s such a bad thing that you feel like that?” Vanessa says, and she sounds hesitant but carries on anyway. “Like. I basically had to look after myself since I was a kid, so I grew up fast then went straight to being a real adult with a job and my own place. So it’s been sort of strange being here with college people and seeing all the in-betweeny bit I didn’t even know existed, like living with people or whatever. But maybe it feels that way because we’re getting a second chance to do the stuff we missed first time around.”

“…Oh,” Ruben says, feeling it impact strange and strong in his chest. He never thought to try and think of this as a good thing. Ruben’s nearly thirty and he’s only just learning how to have friends and take care of himself. But at least he’s learning, right? Ruben gets a relationship and gets to experiment with sex and gets to have fun and make memories worth looking back on, like most people do in their early twenties. It’s only a few years late.

“That’s a lovely way to look at it, querida,” Usnavi says, softly. Vanessa shrugs awkwardly.

“Do you think everyone feels like this?” Ruben asks, leaning his head on Usnavi’s shoulder. “Or is it just us and maybe that’s why we like each other so much?”

“I bet more people than everyone thinks,” Vanessa says. “Just nobody wants to admit it in case they’re the only one.”

“Either way,” Usnavi says, “if this is take two, then I’m glad I get to spend it with you both this time.”

“Yeah,” Ruben says. The feeling like he’s about to cry fades out. He takes Usnavi’s hand, reaches his fingertips out to touch Vanessa’s image on the screen. “I can’t think of anyone better to grow up with.”

***

**Wednesday, January 17.**

**Usnavi**

“Clean your crap off the table, food’s almost ready,” Usnavi says, taking the lid off the pot of rice and poking at it. Abuela Claudia always told him not to stir it during cooking because it makes it go gloopy, but he gets impatient. Or he totally forgets about it and burns it all to the bottom of the pan and it’s the biggest bitch in the world to clean. Sonny will just have to live with gloopy rice.

“This is literally all _your_ stuff,” Sonny says, sweeping everything back into its half-unpacked box. 

“I know. I been tryna get it all sorted but there’s only so much space here.”

He’s storing some of his belongings at Ruben’s as well, but Usnavi had to get rid of most of it during the move, too impractical and too much effort to try and keep hold of it all. All the furniture and bulky stuff, and all the crap he hadn’t even realised he’d been amassing, like why did he have so much random cardboard, for a start? What had he planned on doing with it to make it seem worth keeping? Or just whole drawers full of loose screws and cables for god knows what. He’d got so tired of sorting through it it that he’d just said fuck it and aside from what he uses every day he tossed basically anything that wasn’t sentimental or sellable. It was actually kind of freeing, in a scary way. A new start.

“I like what you’ve done with the place so far, though,” Sonny says, indicating around at where Usnavi’s been trying to leave some De la Vega touches to Casa García: the photo of his parents at the beside, their old record player and vinyls he’s been listening to a lot since setting them up, his DR flag pinned on the wall above the bed. “This what you’ve been up to since Vanessa left?”

“Yeah, y’know, keepin’ busy, tryna keep myself entertained.”

“Unpacking is chores, not entertainment,” Sonny says, disapproving. “Learn how to have real fun, amigo, it’s no wonder you’re depressed.”

“Dame un respiro, I’m still new at this,” Usnavi says. “Throw in some hints if you’re gonna criticise, what even is it you kids are doing for fun these days? Dabbing? MDMA? Is that DIY slime stuff still a thing?”

“No slime, V told me you’re banned from anything that’s gonna gunk up her hairdressing equipment after the last time. Are you trying to be youthful now? Nobody wants to see that.”

“I’m youthful,” Usnavi says. “Oye, make yourself useful, get me those plates. Twenty-six is youthful.”

Sonny hands Usnavi the plates and opens the fridge. “Maybe for most people, but _you_ were born a middle-aged dad. Bet your first words were _hi, Hungry, I’m Usnavi!_ You want OJ? _”_

“Por favor. Actually my first word was _‘buela_ and Mamá told me everybody cried at how adorable it was. But no, anyway, I just want a hobby. Something to actually _do._ Gonna run out of boxes to unpack eventually.”

“And your go-to was party drugs and slime?”

“Look, I’ve never had a hobby before, I dunno.” He sets the plates down on the table and takes his seat. “It’s more complicated than I thought. Can’t do nothin’ that costs money, so frankly I couldn’t have it be MDMA even if I wanted to. It can’t be too far out from here either because I can’t be payin’ for trains every day. And nothing involving math.”

“Nobody does math for fun anyway, Usnavi,” Sonny says through a mouthful of food.

“Have I introduced you to my boyfriend?”

“Cierto, he’s got problems. But that’s what he likes to do, so what do _you_ like to do?”

“¡No lo se! I haven’t had time to like things for years!”

Sonny gives Usnavi a shrewd, sad look; even though he hides it in layers of teasing, he’s always beenbothered by Usnavi’s total lack of a personal life. “You’re actually worried about this, ain’t you?” he says.

“Sólo un poco,” Usnavi says, pinching his fingers together to show really, just the tiniest amount. “I feel like people usually know how to do this? Maybe you’re right and I’m too old to start now.”

“Don’t be puttin’ words in my mouth, I never said that. You just need to find the thing that makes you feel good, you don’t gotta get it right first time. It’s your time to try new stuff out! It’s exciting!” Sonny gestures expansively around himself with his fork, dropping rice on the floor. “You can do whatever you _want_!”

Sonny’s hype is always infectious: Usnavi finds himself nodding along enthusiastically. “Y’know what, you’re right!” he says. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s exciting! Okay!”

“There he is!” Sonny says, taking a victory bite of his dinner. “Yo, you overstirred the rice again, it’s all gloopy. You know Abuela would have words about that.”

“¡Lo siento, Abuela!” Usnavi says to the ceiling, then points at Sonny. “Not sorry to you though, I slave over a hot stove to provide for you and all you do is insult me? See if I invite you over again.”

“Eh,” Sonny shrugs, and carries on eating.

Once Sonny leaves after they clean up dinner, Usnavi steals a woollen beanie and a pair of gloves that Vanessa left in her dresser, drapes his own scarf untied around his neck, and sits out on the fire escape. It’s a cold night and he’s gonna be out here for a while. There’s some Thinking to be done.

It’s true, isn’t it? What Sonny was saying about how he doesn’t have to get it right first time. It’s a comforting thought: Usnavi can just do shit and nobody needs to know if he fucks it up. If he’s living his second chance he can afford some low-stakes screwups here and there, to make a change from all the high-stakes screwups he’s been taking part in.

But what makes him feel good? Why doesn’t he know already? He likes coffee, obviamente, but he already drinks that. He likes listening to music but he does that whenever he has a spare moment already. He likes Ruben and Vanessa and all his other friends but he’s tryna learn how to enjoy alone time so he doesn’t flip his shit next time someone goes out of state.

What makes people feel good besides other people?

His therapy worksheets are always saying that eating well, exercise, practising mindfulness are all shit he should be doing. He could start with that, maybe? Ruben says to just take baby steps and not try to do it all at once but Usnavi’s already making pretty good progress, he thinks, and this isn’t _exactly_ therapy. It’s just a two birds one stone situation, making his hobbies the things he should be doing anyway to get happy. Besides, half the stuff he reads on those big lists of self-care tips barely count, if you think about it. Like, meditation, that’s just sitting, basically. Or cooking is only half a hobby because he’d have to eat anyway so it’s not really Doing Something. So he can bring in a few things all at once, then he’ll figure out what works faster. 

Why waste time, y’know? Usnavi gets stuck at standstills a lot but once he starts moving he’s never walked anywhere he could run and never run anywhere he could dance or jump or skip, slow and steady ain’t his style. And there’s a momentum picking up now, he wants to chase it. He wants to make the most of this one.

***

 **Thursday, January 18.**  
****

**Vanessa.**

It’s the small things that are strange, like not having her whole apartment in one room. Vanessa’s been automatically gravitating to her bedroom in the evenings because it’s the place that she’s most certain is Hers, but it makes her feel antisocial and vaguely adolescent, like how she’d never sit in the living room at her mom’s place growing up.

So tonight she’s got her laptop on the couch, while Nina has all her own work spread out on the living room floor. It’s a quiet kind of company, and less lonely than sitting in her room, but Vanessa’s having trouble concentrating.

Vanessa likes it in the living room. It’s a haphazard kind of cute, decor obviously the product of all the house’s members pulling together the contents of their dorm rooms. In a way it reminds her of her studio, how she’s made it look good on a major budget with sheer willpower and a creative eye in a thrift store. Mismatching with style. 

She tries to pick out which things belong to which person, but she doesn’t really know Aubrey or Violet well enough to know their style yet. What’s weird is, she’s not really sure what parts of this room are Nina, either. Cautious recognition of maybe a cushion or a picture frame in the background of video chats over the last year, but nothing that truly screams _Rosario Was Here_.

It’s an edge piece of a puzzle that’s been bothering her since she arrived: Nina seems different here. 

Vanessa can’t tell if it’s because they’ve just changed like people do, or if Nina’s putting on an act to fit in here or if the way she is back home when she visits in the summer is acting, or maybe it’s just that Vanessa’s gotten too used to the boys who live life with visible thought-bubbles over their heads while Nina is fucking inscrutable. But she feels unfamiliar in an indefinable way and it gives Vanessa the same not-quite-nervousness of trying to make a good impression on someone while you test the waters to see how much of yourself you can really be. And that’s some bullshit, because they’ve always known each other, and Nina’s always known that Vanessa is outspoken and kind of a bitch so why not just live up to the expectation?

In that spirit, she says “you’re so boring today.”

Nina gives her a disbelieving look. “I’m studying?”

“You’re always studying,” Vanessa says. “What are you gonna do when you graduate and there’s no more studying to do?”

“I try not to think about that.”

“Bullshit, is this really Nina ‘I Have An Actual Five Year Plan’ Rosario talking?”

“Five Year Plan Nina died when I realised I can’t finish college in three. The whole timeline was thrown off. Now I’m No Plan Nina, with no plans.”

Vanessa looks at her. Nina hunches her shoulders defensively.

“ _Fine_ , now I have _seven_ five-year-plans to account for potential setbacks or changes, and all of them are terrifyingly fragile,” she says. “Please don’t ask me about them, I don’t wanna have to make an eighth to account for all the time I’ll lose to the existential crisis about my future.”

“Mood,” Vanessa says. “The future part, not the multiple timelines, that’s pathological and you should consider therapy.”

“I’d have to make an eighth plan to account for therapy time, though,” Nina says.

“Are you kidding? I seriously can’t tell.”

“Who knows?” Nina says cheerfully.

Vanessa sure as shit doesn’t know. It bothers her, more so now that she’s seeing Nina on a day to day basis and is constantly aware of what she’s not aware of. It’s what she always secretly feared might happen when Nina left.

People know full well when Vanessa’s upset no matter how hard she tries to keep her cool, she seethes and scowls and stomps around. Nina is months of perfectly cheerful smiles and then slams you with “by the way I didn’t say anything but I have been in emotional turmoil for weeks and also just made a huge risky life decision okay byeee” and runs off before the sentence even hits your eardrums.

There was a Vanessa once who woulda let it go, same as she let go knowing about Benny and Nina’s relationship troubles or how she let go observing how Nina always seemed so tense in those months when it turned out she lost her scholarship but hadn’t told anyone yet. Vanessa’s never brought it up, but being honest, it hurt that Nina never told her about dropping out until so long after the fact. There were so many chances to talk things over before it got that bad, even if it was just to vent. It hurt hearing second-hand from Usnavi that Benny and Nina were having problems, waiting to hear the other side of it and Nina not saying a damn word up until “me and Benny broke up, by the way.”

They both suck at being the person who says _hey, I’m struggling here, help me out_ , they always have. But the whole point is it’s supposed to cancel out with each other. Vanessa tells Nina stuff, even things she doesn’t talk to the boys about, even though it’s not easy, but it’s sometimes _important_. Vanessa’s pretty much just done with watching people she cares about trying to go it alone. She’s grudgingly coming to appreciate that sometimes walls just need to be attacked when they’re only a couple feet high before they turn into a skyscraper, to minimise the collateral damage when they come down no matter how uncomfortable everyone is with talking about it.

And maybe she’s making a fuss over nothing or maybe Vanessa’s feeling new in this place and she’s projecting. It’s the not knowing for sure that’s an issue. Vanessa’s sitting a couple feet across from a girl she’s been best friends with almost twenty-five years, who she’s sat across a thousand tables from since kindergarten through high school and she feels kind of like a stranger. She’s not gonna let what she suspects happened with Benny happen to their friendship, a quiet rift that nobody knows how to heal because it’s not an argument or resentment, just a void of unspoken things growing bigger over time.

For now she’ll let it drop, only because she doesn’t know how to change it, not yet. But hey, she’s got four months to come up with something.

***

**Ruben**

The problem with fulfilling your wildest dreams comes when they stop being fulfilled, temporarily or otherwise. Case in point: Ruben, who has somehow managed to stumble his way into dating the actual coolest girl who ever lived, now has to deal with her _not being here_.

It’s not devastating in the way he’s missed people before: it’s only been a week, they still talk plenty, he still has Usnavi. Only little missteps here and there, like realising a couple hours into hanging with Usnavi at Vanessa’s place that they both occasionally keep glancing at the door anticipating her arrival. Or now in his own apartment, suddenly realising there’s no long, bare legs slung across his lap to prop his book against while he reads. Small change. Manageable. Unbalancing. Vanessa seems happy with her choice and Usnavi seems happier in himself than he has done for a while and both of those things make Ruben happy too, a change he’s willing to deal with as long as they carry on with the positive trajectory.

It wouldn’t even be a situation he’d usually notice. He reads without her there plenty, they don’t spend every single day together, it’s not an activity that requires her presence. It’s only that it’s not a choice: not just tonight with is book at a lower angle than usual. Tonight is easy. But tomorrow and the day after and— well, subsequent tomorrows are already enough to give a man some major anxiety, and it’s particularly harsh after six-plus months of Vanessa-almost-guaranteed tomorrows to find himself suddenly deprived cold-turkey of her.

When the phone rings a few moments later, Ruben almost answers assuming its her but habitual avoidance makes him double-check caller ID, and thank god he did because it’s the lab. It’s been over a month since he promised them he’d look into getting Jason’s Blackout data to sell them his research and obviously they weren’t gonna let an opportunity slip away just because Ruben’s too much of a disaster to have dealt with that situation rationally.

He should probably answer it.

What he does instead is, he stares at it until it stops ringing. That’s a relief. Now he can go back to completely pretending it doesn’t exist.

A notification pops up informing him that he has one missed call and one new voicemail.

“Nooo, don’t do that,” he whispers urgently to his phone. Shit, he should change his voicemail recording to _Hi, this is Ruben, don’t leave a message, dear god don’t leave a message._ It just puts the ball in his court. He doesn’t want this ball in his court, he hasn’t decided if he even wants to play tennis yet.

God. Life’s been so distracting he almost forgot, had way more important things on his mind. That trips him for a second, imagining what twenty-year-old Ruben would say at the idea of prioritising anything over work but it’s true. Making sure Usnavi and Vanessa are safe has been more important, helping Usnavi get back on his feet, supporting Vanessa while she chases her own future. Looking after himself has been more important, for the first time in Ruben’s life _he’s_ more important. He celebrated the holidays. He spent time with his family. He’s started trying to make _friends_ , for god’s sake, instead of just passively hoping friends happen to him, though admittedly he’s doing very badly at it so far.

Ruben doesn’t want his priorities to change.

The plan, before everything broke bad last month, was: salvage the only worthwhile part of life pre-Heights, make some money, help some people, finish the job and move on. Prove to himself and everyone else that what he did and what he made wasn’t worthless, even though Jason never really gave it the time of day.

Seeing Jason again, realising just how much time Ruben wasted on him (his entire _adulthood_ ), it makes it so much harder to let go, for so many reasons. Blackout is his baby. It’s everything he used to be in one little bottle of knockout pills, and he’d be putting it in someone else’s hands, in the world’s hands.

He doesn’t know how to trust the results of his work any more. The drug itself works, no doubt on that, but what if it goes out into the world and hurts more than it helps? People can take pure innovation and twist it no matter what. Ruben just wants to help, he always wanted to help. There’s so much good you can do with a powerful, non-addictive sleeping drug. There’s a hell of a lot of bad you can do with it too.

He doesn’t know how to trust himself any more. Does he want this for the right reasons? Was it ever really about helping or was it just about the way that helping made him valuable?

If Ruben sells Blackout, everyone will know he’s brilliant. That’s terrifying. He doesn’t want to want that validation any more. Moderation might not be an option, he’s never been good at moderation when it comes to proving his worth, any leeway always the _just one drink_ that turns into two that turns into relapse for a recovering alcoholic. Wanting things is dangerous. Maybe Jason was right about him. Maybe he never will be content with the life he has now and he’ll be pulled right back into that black hole the second he lets himself get close to it.

And if he does, there’s nothing to say he’ll be able to satisfy it anyway. It’s been both a comfort and an unbearable weight to know that the disrupted, uneven way his thoughts operate now isn’t just psychological. Literal brain damage, trauma savaging the neural pathways like a coyote attack. Some days it feels like he can barely remember what way to put his pants on. No reason to assume he’s even still capable of brilliance.

There’s probably some kind of irony, he thinks, in this situation. They figured out a way to administer the cure for Jason by passing chance, a discussion about experimental PTSD treatments: a switch, rerouting the signals around where trauma kept blocking it. Apparently only Jason was qualified enough to do an operation like that, though that was obviously proved wrong a few months later when the Ian operation finally happened. Ha, and he thought contacting Jason about Blackout was hard, imagine trying to send _that_ text, asking him to hook Ruben up with his surgeon so Ruben could be what he was before the last time someone cut him open on a table and rewired him. Or asking Jason himself to do it.

…On second thoughts, don’t imagine that.

Vanessa said they were all getting a second chance. If so, maybe that means Ruben shouldn’t start walking the same path as the first time, a repetition that must be the definition of insanity. Or maybe that means this is a second chance to do it _right_ , how it should’ve been all along. Schrodinger’s chemist: if he doesn’t open this box, Ruben’s scientific ambition both is and isn’t dead and he can leave consequences to quantum instead of having to deal with them yet.

Ruben does not listen to the voicemail.

***

 **Friday, January 19.**  
****

**Vanessa.**

Vanessa comes home from work to Aubrey yelling “family dinner! Family dinner! I’m feeding you!” the second she gets in the door, and wonders why she ever had a single negative thought about living with other people.

It’s really good. Everyone’s in a good mood, Nina has brought wine (“it cost eleven whole dollars,” she says. They all go _ooooh._ ), and it’s kinda nice to chat during dinner. They’ve all been on different schedules during the week and Vanessa hadn’t realised till now how much she’s got used to having company in the evenings. Ugh. What the hell has happened to her?

“God, I’d kill twenty men a day for your cooking,” Violet tells Aubrey. They’re softer together today than they have been all week. Maybe they just needed the weekend to arrive.

“Like you need an excuse,” Aubrey says, looking pleased. “Hey, Vanessa, your dudes any good in the kitchen?”

Another unexpectedly good thing: Violet and Aubrey are chill about the poly situation. She’d been worried about that, before she arrived, but it hadn’t been an issue at all. “As long as you’re gonna be cool about me and Vi,” Aubrey had said, a hint of pre-emptive defensiveness. Vanessa had just shrugged and said “my boyfriends are pretty gay for each other, I ain’t no hypocrite.” and that was that.

“Usnavi can if he really tries but he gets distracted so easy,” she says. “Ruben though, damn.”

“Boy can _bake_ ,” Nina agrees. “He made cookies once while I was at Vanessa’s last summer and I’ve never really been the same since.”

“I’ll get him to make some when they visit.”

“Make him fly out right now, I didn’t make dessert,” Aubrey says. “When are they coming?”

“Um. I’m not sure, actually,” Vanessa says, suddenly realising the logistical problems. “Ruben’s…really not much of a plane guy.”

“Hear _that_ ,” Violet says. “Hate the damn things. Tell him to pop some Ambien before the flight and make a day of it.”

“Maybe,” Vanessa says, and redirects conversation.

She forgets about it during dinner but later, when they’re all watching movies, she keeps catching sight of Vi and Aubrey on the other couch out the corner of her eye, fingers combing through hair and soft, chaste kisses. It’s making her heart burn. She stands up: three pair of eyes look quizzically at her. Vanessa’s not used to having to announce where she’s going every time she leaves a room, but for some reason that seems to be the expected thing here, even though the answer is almost always gonna be “bathroom”. It's weird.

“Forgot I told the boys I’d call,” she says, though actually they arranged for tomorrow and it’s getting late in New York by now. 

Both Ruben and Usnavi's numbers ring out with no answer. Vanessa sighs and does semicircle rotations side to side in her desk chair wondering whether she could persuade Nina to hit the town with her for a distraction when she gets a call back, and she’s real glad nobody’s in the room to catch the fact that she squeaks out loud with surprised happiness. 

“It’s my best girl!” Usnavi says when she picks up. The laptop is on the coffee table, an awkward too-tilted position that makes her feel short looking at the boys on the sofa. “Sorry ‘bout that, you caught us by surprise. How’s it goin’?”

Vanessa takes a moment to take them in: Usnavi's smile, slightly breathless, Ruben’s bangs sticking up vertical. Usnavi’s not wearing his hat, Ruben’s not wearing pants. “You two hookin’ up?”

“HAHA, WHAT,” Ruben says, so that's definitely a yes. “WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT.”

“Honey, I already know you’re fucking, you don’t have to pretend you aren’t.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “Uh, in that case, yes, we were hooking up a little bit.”

“Ruben got his fancy podcast underwear delivery today,” Usnavi says. “So he was showing me, and then obviously I had to touch him up some, because soft.”

“The underwear, or his butt?”

“Yes.”

“Lemme see the new skivvies then.”

Ruben stands, strikes a Wonder Woman hands-on-hips pose, first from the front then the back. They’re boxer-briefs like he always wears, they have little cartoon pandason them, and they fit _very_ well.

“Boooo- _ty_ ,” she observes approvingly.

“Best ass in Manhattan,” Usnavi agrees.

“There’s no way you’ve seen a big enough sample size to back that up,” Ruben says, sitting back down. His ears have gone pink.

“Was that doubt? Usnavi, this guy doubting us right now?”

“Sounds like a damn dirty doubter to me,” Usnavi says. “You want I should prove him wrong?”

“Definitely.”

Usnavi stretches his legs out sideways across the couch and manhandles Ruben into a straddling kneel over his lap, liberally groping him in the process. Ruben makes a surprised “oop!” noise.

“ _Oh my gosh, look at his butt_ ,” Usnavi sings, squeezing in time with the words.

“Do you take feedback on your seduction techniques?” Ruben asks.

“Get over it, Vanessa’s never complained.”

“I have too complained. _Multiple_ occasions,” Vanessa says. “It’s really not sexy.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Usnavi says. “How about this, then?” and he slows his touch, sliding hands down Ruben’s ass then round to the front of his legs, his thumbs brushing high up across Ruben’s inner thighs.

“Y-yeah, that— that’s, uh, definitely more yep,” Ruben stammers. Usnavi keeps it going. It’s almost hypnotic, watching the repetition of the movement and Ruben’s happy, dazed face like he’s in a trance himself. 

The next time Usnavi comes round the front he stays there. Vanessa can’t quite see what’s happening, but from the way Ruben drops his head and gives a contented little _mmm_ , probably Usnavi’s wandering hands are making their way further up. 

Something flutters quick in Vanessa’s stomach. She realises she’s been leaning forward in her chair, fingers digging into her legs, trying to see more even though her position’s static in the screen. When she catches Usnavi’s eye he raises his eyebrows, like _we doing this?_ She holds up a finger to pause things for a second while she locks her door, grabs her earbuds and sits back down.

“The boxers are cute, but I think you’d look better without them,” she says, letting her voice drop to chest register soft and low. “Do you wanna show me more?”

Ruben makes an indecipherable noise.

“Need a clear answer, baby.”

“Yes, Vanessa.”

What to ask him, how to ask him? It always surprises her how much she enjoys being careful when it’s for Ruben. They tread so close to saying something that would ruin everything, and she knows him so well she steps bad less and less often every time. Vanessa’s never been good at careful before, not without feeling weak, but she thinks this must be how it feels to be the one doing the lifts during a dance. A wrong move could hurt him so much but with practice she’s got the finesse to hold him up so it seems effortless, bring him back down to land safe.

“Can you face away from the camera? Hands on the back of the couch,” she says, and he does. “Good. Usnavi?”

“Gotcha,” Usnavi says, tugs Ruben’s boxers down around his knees, pushes the back of Ruben’s sweater to give Vanessa a better view, but Ruben stills his hand once it gets up past his hips.

“Keeping it on,” he says. “Is that okay?”

As if they’d ever say no. She’d place major bets on Usnavi actively getting off on being on camera, but she can see why Ruben might be feeling shy. It always surprises her too how much she enjoys hearing _no_ or _not this, I wanna do something else,_ because it means he trusts them not to drop him.

“View’s great as is,” she reassures him. “Isn’t he just gorgeous, Usnavi?”

“Beautiful,” Usnavi says.

“You said you were gonna prove it to him?” she says, trying not to sound as impatient as she is.

“Any requests?”

She just waves her hand, _you choose._ It’s always fun watching Usnavi get creative. He scratches thoughtfully at his beard, and gently guides Ruben around so he’s side-on to the camera with his hands on the arm of the couch, bends him over with his boxers still around his knees, his dick curving out semi-hard underneath him. 

Usnavi gives Vanessa a look so intense she’s surprised her laptop doesn’t instantly overheat from it, then leans in and, holding Ruben open, presses his tongue against his ass.

“Oh my god,” Ruben says, back arching. “Are you—? Oh my _god_.”

_Fuck_ , that’s hotter than it has any right to be. She _definitely_ likes it when Usnavi gets creative. He curls his fingers round Ruben’s hips, holding him still while Ruben whines and tries uselessly to move backwards into it, where Vanessa can see hints of Usnavi’s tongue working quick and clever and light, then suddenly pulling him roughly back to go deep. Vanessa wonders, like she often does, if she ever coulda pictured Usnavi being with a guy this way back when she first started dating him, and if she had, would she have been able to picture how well it suits him? 

She crosses one leg over the other, squeezing her thighs tightly, but she doesn’t let herself have more than that yet. If they’re not here to tease her then she’ll have to make her own fun. She keeps Ruben playing the same game because that’s only fair: he’s grinding eagerly backwards onto Usnavi’s mouth but when he takes his hand off the couch to jerk himself off he only gets one quick stroke in before Vanessa tells him to put it back. He complies instantly, and she’s too nice not to reward that kind of restraint.

“You want some more?” she asks.

“ _Yes_ , yes,” he says. His eyes are tight closed. She doesn’t tell him _look at me ‘_ cause she knows he don’t like that, but she can ask him right.

“If you open your eyes for me, I’ll take something off for you.”

She moves the camera so they can see her full body better while they watch her stripping down to black sports bra, blue shorts. If she’d been anticipating this she’d have worn something sexier, or at least matching. They’re gratifyingly appreciative anyway, Usnavi lifting his head up with eyebrows tilting softly and Ruben reaches out with a cut-off movement towards her. He puts his hand back on the couch before she even has time to call him out.

“Good boy,” she says. He drops his forearm so he can hide his face in the crook of his elbow, then kicks around blindly behind himself trying to move Usnavi’s hand towards him with his foot. Usnavi just presses Ruben’s leg back down and softly drifts his fingertips across it, aimless little paths of touch that Ruben makes a frustrated noise about.

“Impatient, much?” Vanessa asks.

“Someone needs to fuck me with something right now,” Ruben says through gritted teeth.

Vanessa shrugs. “Well, same, but I got nobody here but me. Why should you get all the Usnavi?”

Ruben looks at her and she can tell he’s about to go off-book. Sure enough, he takes one hand off the couch with a _what you gonna do about it_ expression.

“Oh, it’s gonna be like that, is it?”

“It is,” Ruben says. He sucks his middle finger - damn, who gave him the fucking _right -_ flips her off with it then reaches back to finger himself, slow and shallow but definitely enough to make his point.

“Not usually Usnavi who behaves better than you, babe,” she says, folding one leg underneath her, sitting so her heel provides some kinda relief through the pressure of rocking on it. God, if she was there right now, the things she’d do to both of them.

“I don’t hear anyone else complaining,” Ruben answers. Arrogant little fucker, she loves it when he gets cocky.

He’s right, too: Usnavi’s in a world of his own, biting his lip and with his left hand tucked in the front of his sweatpants while he watches Ruben play with himself. Well, that ain’t gonna work. He gets to have fun with Ruben whenever he feels like, it’s Vanessa time now. It takes a lot less finesse to manage him than it does Ruben, though, she just takes off her bra and says “yo, Usnavi.”

He looks at her, then instantly rolls away covering his eyes like he’s been blinded. “God,” he says, peeking out, other hand still moving inside his sweatpants. “You’re too fucking hot, it’s criminal.”

“Ain’t seen nothin yet,” she says, tucking her index finger in at the side of her underwear and pulling them to the side, flashing him for half a second.

“God _damn_ ,” he says. “Wanna change that, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Vanessa demurs, drifting hands cupping her breasts, circling her fingers softly over her underwear, because she knows she looks good doing it and also to give herself time to prepare. Seemed obvious this was gonna happen eventually: they’re not gonna go four months without even seeing each other naked, obviously, but she’s been a little nervous about it, though she hasn’t told the boys that.

It’s not totally uncharted territory. Vanessa’s sent her share of nudes and dirty texts, but here she wonders how much she’s supposed to be talking to compensate for the distance, and she’s always been more comfortable directing things outwards: talking about how they look or telling them what to do, not talking about what they do to her. Like, how do you phrase it? They drive her fucking crazy but stuff like _you make me so wet_ or _I want you so bad_ feels fake however true it is. It reminds her of the trying way too hard to be sexy shit she’d say in fumbly hookups with boys when she was a teenager, so convinced it proved that she was mature beyond her years. She doesn’t regret the things she did before Usnavi, she’s not one to shy away from enjoying sex, its just easier when she can use her body to tell them how they make her feel instead of her words.

Fuck it, though, she’s a problem-solver, they’ll make it work. She strips to nothing, forgetting to do it slow and sexy but she’s too turned on from watching them, from anticipation, to keep up an act. Kicks her feet up on the desk on either side of her computer, plays a finger down herself, spreading open and then sliding it in. Usnavi hisses “ _yes_ ”.

“You wanna go get whatever you need, babe?” she tells him.

He nods eagerly and disappears out of frame. There’s a few crashing  sounds, a muffled “oops”. Sometimes Vanessa feels like she’s dating a cartoon. She half expects a cat to yowl somewhere offscreen.

Ruben cranes his head back over his shoulder to watch whatever Usnavi’s doing, laughing. He’s got both hands back out in front of him, patient now he knows he’s gonna get some soon.

“Sit the same position as me,” Vanessa tells him, and he starts to then rethinks, fumbles around obscuring the screen for a second. When the picture comes back he musta put the computer on a box or something, it’s elevated several inches and tilted down, a much clearer view. Then he matches the open angle of her legs, the bend of her knees, one foot on the couch and one on the coffee table. Usnavi reappears triumphant and naked, wielding lube and a towel.

“ _Now_ we’re talkin’,” he says, slapping lightly at Ruben’s hip to get him to lift up so Usnavi can lay the towel out underneath. Ruben settles back into position after and both of them wait expectantly for Vanessa to tell them what’s next.

“Usnavi,” she says, drawing his name out gentle on the vowels. “I want you to fuck him like you’d fuck me if I was there right now.”

“Okay,” he says agreeably, and tilts Ruben’s chin upwards. “You want that, hermoso? Want me to fuck you?”

“The hell do you think?” Ruben answers.

Usnavi grins and with careful, loving hands he works slow to open Ruben up while Vanessa fingers herself the same, like he’s there with her. It’s not quite enough: she can’t always see what he’s doing, annoyed that the camera is keeping her in place where usually she’d be able to move with them. But Usnavi narrates her to keep pace, tells Ruben how tight he is, how pretty he is, how much Usnavi loves him and he says the same things to Vanessa like he really is touching both of them at once. He brushes his free hand through Ruben’s short hair with a movement like he's tucking it behind his ears, caresses Ruben’s face the way he always does to Vanessa, teases the head of his dick against him without entering. Ruben groans.

“That’s it,” Vanessa says. “You gotta make enough noise for the both of us, Ruben, tell him how much we like it.”

Ruben says, breathless, “best dick in Manhattan. Top two, at least.”

Usnavi pauses to shake his head, laughing. “Now who’s makin’ claims without the research to back it up?”

“Oh, but your _sample size_ is more than adequate, you know?”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. Every goddamn time. They’re hopeless. “We gonna talk all day or…?”

“Girl’s got a point,” Usnavi says. “No making fun of me while I’m trying to dick you down, dude.”

“Wasn’t making fun,” Ruben says. “You make me feel so—god, I don’t even know, I’d let you fuck me for a week straight if you wanted.”

“Oh, well in that case, you ready?” Usnavi asks them both.

“ _Yes_ ,” they say together.

He pushes Ruben’s knees back almost to his chest, slides into him with one long deep movement, circling his hips softly once he’s all the way in while Ruben grabs at the couch with clumsy hands. “You like that?”

The roughness of his voice is stunningly real, that Vanessa almost feels like he’s right there with her.

“Ye _-eah_ ,” Ruben says, more a moan than a word. Usnavi pulls back, all the way out, back in, so slow it must be infuriating for Ruben because it definitely is for Vanessa, mimicking his movements on herself. She curls her fingers to find her g-spot, trying to hit the same toe-curling pleasure Ruben's feeling.

“Vanessa, you like it?” Usnavi asks, look on his face saying he already knows the answer. He’s definitely playing up to the camera, still a total dork like always but his predilection for showmanship is coming out strong today too. Called it, he’s _so_ into this setup.

She doesn’t answer in words, just takes her fingers out of herself and holds them up closer to show how wet they are. Doesn’t tell them outright how turned on she is, but she murmurs _god, baby, yes_ , and _like that_ and _Usnavi_ and _Ruben_ , the boys a conduit she keeps her own touch in time with so she can imagine it’s her Usnavi’s fucking, imagine she’s the one making Ruben grunt like that as a rhythm picks up. He’s loud today, maybe for her benefit, loud enough Vanessa forgets she’s wearing headphones a few times and shoots glances at the door expecting someone to knock and complain about the noise. There’s a thrill to be found there: she doesn’t want her housemates to actually hear it, but the knowledge that she’s gotta be careful is doing something for her, the pleasure not exactly in the potential reality of being caught but only in the knowing that she’s doing something that she could be caught at, like the joy of rulebreaking.

Ruben lays his head back blissfully, his eyes closed. Usnavi says, “you’re missing the show,” pushes his face lightly in Vanessa’s direction till both of them are watching her. They sigh _Vanessa_ simultaneously. It makes the guys laugh, but it sends shivers through her.

“Say my name again,” she says, and their voices in obedient answer hit low and strong in her belly.

Pace change to pounding fast, she’s pretty sure Ruben’s gonna be aching like hell tomorrow, but he likes taking it hard and it shows. Volume up higher for the skin hitting skin sound and the sofa creaking underneath them, gasping distorted like static through the headphones, her name and each other’s names all mixed up together, the sound so much more important now that she's not able to touch. Usnavi pins Ruben’s wrists above his head and Ruben’s legs twitch out, toes pushing up like he’s trying to reach the ceiling. With the mediocre picture quality it takes Vanessa a few seconds to realise he’s coming, just from Usnavi inside him. The whole time his eyes are on Vanessa.

Her angle in the chair isn’t great, the faux leather sweaty underneath her bare legs, feet keep slipping off the desk and her wrist is cramping. This would be better on a bed, better with a toy but she’s too far into it to take her eyes off the boys now, so ready to come that the pressure of her thumb flicking over her clit almost hurts. She lightens her touch to something bearable and now she’s there, it’s too much to control herself so she grabs her discarded shirt from the desk and puts it in her mouth, biting down hard to keep quiet. Usnavi finishes close after, muscles in his legs and his ass visibly clenching and he’s chanting _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ to himself while Ruben wraps his legs around him, holding him inside.

Vanessa watches them catch their breath afterwards, satisfied and not nearly satisfied enough at the same time. Ruben flops backwards on the sofa once Usnavi pulls out, runs his hands through his hair.

“Jesus,” he announces to the sky, then tugs his skewed, stained sweater straight. “I only just washed this, Usnavi,” he says, wrinkling his nose up in distaste.

“How’s that my fault? It’s your jizz,” Usnavi says. “Blame Vanessa, she started it, bein’ all sexy and far away and sexy.”

“That’s true, Vanessa, how could you?” 

Vanessa shrugs, _eh what can you do_ , steps out of line of the camera for a second to clean up. 

Ruben stands, wrapping the towel around his waist. “Okay, I _really_ need to shower but I’ll make it quick, don’t leave before I’m back.”

He blows her a kiss, then kisses his fingertips again so he’s got one loaded to smoosh haphazardly into Usnavi’s forehead, and disappears offscreen.

“Toss me them tissues while you’re up?” Usnavi calls, then “ow?” as the box hits him. 

“So,” Vanessa says, not sure what she wants the answer to be, “how have you guys been coping without me?”

“Like strong independent men who don’t need no woman,” he says, unselfconsciously wiping himself down without bothering to step off-camera then sprawling open-legged all over the sofa. “I miss you, querida. I know its only been a week, but I miss knowing I can see you.”

“I miss you too, honey. You’re doing okay, though? You’ll tell me if things get bad again?”

“Promise,” he says. “But i’d be pretty dang embarrassed if I totally fell apart while you’re gone so I’ll try not to let it happen.”

“Okay,” she says, then, “you’re gonna come see me, right? I don’t know how often I’ll be able to fly home, and…”

“Of course we will,” Usnavi says. “You think we can go that long without kissing you? Crazy talk.”

“The plane, though?”

“We’ll find a way.”

They talk till Ruben comes out in his pajamas, long sleeves and long pants and cuddly with post-coital sleepiness. He curls up against Usnavi and gives Vanessa a smile, blinking slow.

“Shit, it’s late for you guys, ain’t it?” she says.

“Comin’ up on one AM,” Usnavi confirms. He kisses Ruben’s head absently mindedly through his damp hair.

“Not a weekday,” Ruben says. “We can stay.”

He yawns hugely afterwards.

“I don’t wanna keep you up,” Vanessa says, though she doesn’t want them to go yet either.

Ruben mumbles “don’t wanna hang up yet,” practically asleep already, and she’d do pretty much anything in that second to get back home and be with them.

“I’ll chill here until you guys fall asleep, then,” she says. “Just put the laptop on a shutdown timer and leave it on the side table.”

She unplugs her headphones so she can hear the background noise of the guys getting ready for bed, the running water and footsteps. By the time she’s got comfortable herself, they’re settling into bed and turning the lights out, Ruben pretty much just a fluff of hair visible under the quilt at this point. Usnavi talks quietly to her for a while, face illuminated in strange shadows by the monitor, but eventually he drifts off halfway through a sentence so Vanessa just tabs back and forth between Netflix and Facetime to keep checking in on them. It’s not quite the same as being with them but she feels better knowing they’re there, even though she can hardly see them with the screen brightness turned down low. She keeps the line open till it cuts off on the other end.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** IMPORTANT NOTE PLEASE READ****
> 
> In case you missed it on my tumblr, I came to the decision that the previous format of this fic wasn't working for me. It's been holding me back to the point of making it less fun and delaying a lot of my posts. So I decided to change the format: from here on, rather than a linear narrative this fic is gonna be a series of oneshots, much more like [we'll light your way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772532/chapters/23892243) only specifically set during Vanessa's time in California. Not necessarily posted in chronological order but I'll clarify as much as possible in author's notes. Consider chapters 1-5 the setup and now the rest is me just playing in the space. 
> 
> Sorry if this change of direction is jarring or offputting to anyone. But in the end I'd rather enjoy what I write, so here we are!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Usnavi accidentally falls headlong into a brief and concerning period of almost functioning, makes some decisions, makes some noise. Set late January through early to mid Februaryish.

Usnavi’s long been convinced that somewhere out there in the world there’s a cheat code for everything if only you can find it. At some point Vanessa musta clicked through the right combination of thoughts to level up to the “take a shower every day" skill. Ruben musta figured out the formula to get “brush my teeth every evening even if I fell asleep on the couch” down. Usnavi’s been searching for a walkthrough for this kinda shit his whole life and he’s finally found it now, he’s absolutely certain. 

Sure, he’s been certain before, but this time it’s real. It’s different. Research has happened, extensively. Here he is now after a few days intensive googling, cleaning, organizing, with a clean fridge, clean apartment, clean clothes. Meals planned for the entire next week, groceries purchased. To-do list itemized, scheduled, alarms all set. Three separate productivity apps downloaded to keep him on track.

Skill unlocked: basic adult functions. ¡Wepa!

And you know what, it’s kinda great. Is this what people always feel like when they eat properly and sleep more than five hours? No wonder everyone’s always talking about it. Why didn’t he do this years ago, when it’s really so easy: he’s making his bed every morning, showering every day, vegetables are happening. Like being a real person, he thinks to himself, though what he was before if not a real person he’s got no idea. A walking pile of tension and eyebags crammed into a hat, mostly. 

At the end of every day he’s beat, but it’s an exhaustion that he missed during depression apathy, familiar from the bodega but now it’s there by choice. Today Usnavi didn’t  _have_  to be tired, but he chose to be, and he’s happy with it. He earned his night of rest.

It’s sprinting the start of a marathon. Deep down Usnavi knows it. Radical change burns for like a week max, and inevitably he wears himself out or life gets in the way or he’ll just straight up forget the thing he was so dedicated to at the start of the week and the status quo falls back in. 

But hope always springs eternal in Usnavi’s soul, so every time he says _this one will stick_ 99.9 percent of himself truly believes it, precedent be damned. Now, just like every other time before it, must be the real thing, the pace he’ll be able to maintain forever. Everyone else can do it, after all. Why not him?

***

Usnavi’s got an itch on the back of his leg. Is he allowed to deal with that or is he supposed to just let it go? It’s literally all he can think about, even with the soothingly artificial voice murmuring patient instructions from his laptop.

“Breathe in. And out. Focus on the exhale. Out. Out.”

Isn’t this supposed to be calming? Nobody breathes this quickly. The audio tells him to maintain the rhythm and then goes silent to let him focus on his exhale. Feels like he’s on a tight deadline to blow up an entire birthdayful of balloons. 

He gives in and scratches at his leg quickly. That’s better. Now he can just zen out in the silence. Which is extending forever, by the way, is she still not talking? Has the video stopped playing?

No, don’t look at it. Breathe. Focus on — maybe his wi-fi cut out. Imagine if it _has_ stopped and he stayed sitting here forever communing with the cosmic vibrations while he’s waiting for it to kick back in, just his luck to achieve enlightenment by mistake. He checks.  Oh. It’s still playing. Now Usnavi feels kinda shitty about giving in to temptation and twice as shitty when it turns out he’s still only two and a half minutes into a twenty-minute video, Jesus. Try again. In. Out. In—

“If you lose focus, bring your mind back to your breath. In, out…”

“I already _did_ ,” he says, annoyed. She told him to inhale while he was on his exhale. Now his rhythm is fucked.

Persisting through it, he lets himself settle into the universe, mindful and accepting, totally undistracted by the fact that the itch has moved to that spot on his back he can’t reach. Acknowledge it and then let it go. Let everything go. He is at peace. He could do this all day. His Facetime is ringing.

“Oh, thank god,” he says, and answers immediately.

“Hey Usnavi,” Vanessa says. “Whatcha doin’ on the floor?”

“Meditatin’,” he answers, unfolding his legs and stretching them out in front of him. One of his feet is tingling numbly from sitting cross-legged.

“ _Really_?”

“Yup. Don’t look at me like that, it’s meant to help with mindfulness and shit. Puts you in touch with your body and your emotions so you’re more aware of how you’re feeling.”

“Huh. How’s that working out for you?”

“Oh, I’m a pro. I only did it for five minutes and I’m already super aware that I feel like I don’t get meditation. It’s just sitting, Vanessa. It’s just _sitting_! There’s nothing to do!”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Lo se, but I don’t think I even have a chakra. If I do it was probably glued shut at birth. Maybe I should try yoga instead.”

“Yeeeees,” Vanessa says, in her Usnavi-voice. “Muy bueno, I like that idea.”

“Apuesto que sí,” he says, interlacing his fingers to stretch his arms up and making sure his tank top rides up to expose his belly in the process. “This is supposed to be about my brain, not your ogling eyes.”

“What? They always say exercise helps your mind or whatever. Definitely helps mine, send pics.”

“Keep it in your pants, García. Something up? Don't usually hear from you this early in the day.”

“I thought you might want some company. We can hang out while I work.”

Translation: _Vanessa_ wants some company. Not that she’ll ever say it, but Usnavi worries she’s getting a little lonely out west. She seems to like her new housemates okay but living with a couple (at least, a couple you ain’t fuckin’) must mean a lot of third-wheeling. She obviously still loves Nina but Usnavi tries to imagine living with Benny and really can’t picture it, so it must be twice as tough getting used to living with someone who’s simultaneously your best friend and who’s been away leading a totally separate life from you the past three years.

More to the point, Usnavi knows what he misses most about Vanessa, and it’s not the sex or going on dates or the conversations, though obviously those too. But he misses her _presence_. Their pre-arranged Facetime dates are good, especially when it’s all three of them, but sometimes it makes Usnavi feel this self-imposed pressure to be constantly appealing, constantly interesting, to remind her why she’s with him, babbling nervously like when he started dating her. It’s good to talk to Vanessa, always, but he misses the fact of living separate lives so close in each other’s space. Working, cooking, reading, no need to talk or interact when it’s enough just knowing that she’s nearby. Maybe that’s what Vanessa’s wanting too. This isn’t quite the same, but it’s the closest they can get.

Of course, if she’s working he can’t really be bouncing around the room distractingly and that’s tough because Usnavi’s been very much _switched on_ recently. Almost uncomfortably so, now he’s started, always wondering what he’s doing next, standing up three seconds after sitting down for a break to clean already-clean surfaces or finding new things to do just to maintain his pace, but he’d endure far worse than sitting still to be around his girl. 

Meditation was clearly a bust, so instead he grabs a book and a stress ball that Ruben left here a while ago and settles in while Vanessa props her phone up nearby and puts her glasses on, looking so damn cute and professional. It’s been a while since he just read, and now that he’s super functional it seems as good a time as any to see how the old brain copes with a little bit of reading comprehension. He’s not kidding himself he’s gonna be any more capable of novels than he’s ever been, but Usnavi likes poetry, whether to understand or to enjoy in non-understanding. Poems don’t frustrate him when he doesn’t get them. Ambiguity feels like part of the experience. 

He reads the few books he has then scrolls through his phone for more. When he’s tired of reading he plays spoken word with one headphone in, lying upside-down on the couch with his legs over the back. Pauses to repeat quotes aloud that remind him of Vanessa or Ruben, cries at words that hit the homes he misses and home he has. Vanessa laughs quietly to herself whenever she hears him sniffling, because she’s more than used to him getting weepy over songs and sounds and stories. This is Usnavi, too small for everything that lives inside him. This is Usnavi, overflowing. He stretches his legs right up above him while he listens, draws shapes with his toes in midair, and wonders what it means to be a dam in a perpetual state of breaking.

 

***

 

“Yo,” Usnavi says, answering the phone while he fucks around making breakfast. _Real_ breakfast, he truly is a transformed man. Well, okay, it’s only eggs, but that’s a step up from toast eaten on the way downstairs to work or dry cereal by the handful out the box. “What’s the frequency, Kenneth?”

“No, it’s Ruben? Ruben Marcado."

“I know, it’s a — never mind, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be goin’ to work already?”

“Yeah, I’m walking to the station now, but I thought I should tell you this before you saw for yourself so it doesn’t surprise you.”

He scrambles his eggs around a little bit more. “That don’t sound like the cake and presents kinda surprise.”

“I just went past the store. They’ve painted over the grate.”

Usnavi pauses with his hand in midair en route to picking up the salt. “ _My_ grate? At my bodega?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?…Usnavi?”

He finally drops his hand and shakes his head. “Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m fine. ‘Ta bien. Hey, we knew it’d happen sooner or later, right? It’s honestly fine. I gotta go, my eggs are burning, love you, I’m fine, bye.”

“Usnavi—“

“Eggs!” he pretty much yells, and hangs up. He’ll feel bad about that later. He stands and looks at the eggs until they start to go black and then turns the heat off. He should scrape those into the bin and soak the pan before it sets, start making breakfast over, stick to his plan. He was gonna shower, do laundry, go to church. On the way home he was gonna check in on the neighbors from his old apartment building. Sra Mendoza had her hip operation last week, and he knows Jenny three floors uphas been struggling on her own, what with the twins and all.

Instead, he pulls yesterdays jeans back on over yesterday’s boxers and wears yesterday's socks, leaves the apartment with the burnt eggs still congealing in their pan on the stove. He needs a fucking smoke.

So much for momentum.

*******

“What,” Sonny says, striding across Vanessa’s living room with something in his hand, “are THESE.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Usnavi says, because Sonny’s pushed whatever he’s holding so close to Usnavi’s face that it’s made him go cross-eyed.

“Cigarettes!” Sonny says. Ah, shit. “I _know_ they ain’t Vanessa’s, and Ruben wouldn’t bother to hide it if he was a smoker, so that leaves us one dirty-lunged suspect out of your little trio, don’t it?”

“It was a blip!” Usnavi says. “Just a mistake. I’m quittin’ again, I swear.”

“ _Again_? So this isn’t a one off?”

“Dude, I’m eight fuckin’ years older than y—“ Usnavi trails off as Sonny stares him down. Coño. He could almost forget that Sonny’s a cousin from his dad’s side, because he looks exactly like Usnavi’s mamá right now. “I’m…very sorry?”

“You will be if I find you with these again,” Sonny grumbles. “I’m takin’ these with me so you ain’t tempted.”

“You damn well ain’t takin’ them nowhere,” Usnavi says. “You know if your mom catches you with them I’m catchin’ hands from her, and besides which I ain’t having you goin’ round with no cigarettes, that’s a fine way to start a bad habit.”

“Well, I ain’t leaving them here with you. Throw ‘em off the fire escape?” Sonny suggests.

“Yeah, that—wait, no, that’s probably a dick thing to do. I’ll give ‘em to whoever’s smoking in the alley next time I go out. I will!” he insists, at Sonny’s skeptical eyebrows. “I just had a bad day and slipped up, but it was only temporary.”

“Prométeme?”

“Te prometo,” Usnavi says. “I bounce back, kiddo. I’m living the functional life now. Look, I even bought fruit! It’s in a bowl!”

He gestures grandly to the bowl of apples on the table. Sonny nods, appropriately impressed.

“So you’re gettin’ used to downtime then?” he asks, finally tossing the cigarette carton aside. Usnavi will absolutely definitely throw those out, probably. “Found a hobby yet?”

“Hell to the fuck yeah I did,” Usnavi says. “Check it, I been cookin’ every day, three meals. Proper ones, too, got my carbs and protein and whatever all going, not just noodles and candy. Doin’ my dishes every morning too, I’ve got a whole system now. I got an app to do workouts with so that’s at least an hour of exercise a day. And I’m learnin’ sign language because Ruben knows a bit of it and I keep thinking how it’d be nice to be able to talk to him in the same language when he can’t speak, y’know?”

“Wow, you’re really keepin’ busy,” Sonny says. “You goin’ to a class for the sign?”

“Nah, s’all online, man. I’m doin’ a whole _bunch_ of online courses, you know how much free education’s out there? It’s amazing! There’s one for the ASL and then there’s one about like proper nutrition and shit, and a couple in high-school level math and science and english, get a refresher on stuff I never really got a grasp on back then.”

“Hold the fuck up, you hated schoolwork,” Sonny says. “You definitely hate math. You very specifically said you didn’t wanna do it as a hobby.”

“Well…people change,” Usnavi says, though in point of fact his opinion has stayed much the same, but he gets the sense Sonny won’t let it lie if he says that and Usnavi doesn’t much feel like explaining his reasons. It’s gotta be done. It’ll be worth it.

“In less than a month? You’ve _always_ hated math. The only time I’ve ever heard you drop a c-bomb is when you tried to help me with my homework that time.”

“That never happened! I don’t say that word.”It’s true. Vanessa’s tried to make him say it during dirty talk a few times and he never manages without so much awkward giggling that it kills the mood, which is still better than Ruben who can’t get further than stuttering out the first letter.

“It did so happen! It was all multiplying fractions and you tried to change them to decimal because you thought that might be easier but you didn’t know how to do it and then you yelled at the calculator, remember? Abuela got mad and made you clean the entire kitchen because she said you dirtied it up with your lenguaje obsceno.”

“Uh…no recuerdo. Como sea, I figure if I just work at it I’m bound to get good at it and then I won’t hate it so much! I probably just didn’t try hard enough before.”

“Right,” Sonny says slowly. “So you’re gonna do that at the same time as sign language and an exercise routine and quittin’ smoking and all the other stuff? And you started all this in the past two weeks?”

“Yeah! Plus I’m thinkin about volunteering at Abuela’s church a couple days a week, they always need an extra pair of hands. And I might start keeping a journal, I found some really cool ways to do it that’s supposed to help you keep everything in order. You ever heard of bullet journals? Not got my head round how it works quite yet but I bought a notebook so when I do I’ll be so fuckin’ organized. So I'm pretty on top of things at the moment.”

Actually, Usnavi feels a little off-kilter, truth be told. Like someone’s overcharged his batteries. That’s motivation for you, he figures. Or possibly just nicotine withdrawal. Fruit overdose? Who knows. It’s fine.

“That’s…a hell of a lot to take on all at once, Usnavi.”

“Yeah, but it’s all connected, you see,” Usnavi explains. “I gotta do it all at once, because I’m obviously gonna feel like crap if I ain’t exercise, but that makes food even more important ‘cause I can’t get the full benefits of exercise if I don’t eat proper, and I gotta eat properly to feel better anyway ‘cause I read a bunch of blogs that said about how brain stuff can get worse if you’re deficient in some vitamins, but I seriously suck at food so that’s why the nutrition course - like did you know apparently you gotta eat different colors and types of vegetables, not just any old five a day? And apparently a high-protein diet’s supposed to help with—well, doesn’t matter, but there’s a bunch of stuff, I been planning my grocery list around it -but anyway I don’t really _understand_ a lot of it which is why I figure some science learnin’ might do me good, and I just wanna be less terrible at basic math because it’s everywhere, and then it’s important to get outside and socialize and do good so that’s why I’m gonna start volunteering next, but it ain’t too much, honestly. No point doin’ one thing if all the other stuff’s for shit. It’s about balance, ain’t it?”

“…I-is it?” Sonny says, looking utterly bewildered.

“Yep!” Usnavi takes an emphatically triumphant sip from his mug then pulls an involuntary face.

“What was _that_?” Sonny asks. 

“Nothin’. Forgot it wasn’t coffee. I’m tryna switch to green tea.”

“ _Why_?” Sonny says, crossing himself with a look so disgusted you’d think Usnavi just told him he’s switching to drinking water directly from the Hudson.

“The, uh, the internet says that all the coffee I drink might be makin’ me more anxious but I don’t wanna give up caffeine totally, so I figured, you know, green tea. It’s better for you. It’s full of antioxidants.”

“Do you even know what an antioxidant is?

“…S’good for you,” Usnavi says evasively. “And it don’t taste so bad, once you’re used to it.”

He takes another sip and tries to mask his  _ugh_  noise with a refreshed  _ahhh._ A very small piece of himself jumps out to stand next to Sonny and give him the same _yo what the fuck are you doing_ expression. He ignores them both. He can learn to like it. He can learn to like a lot of things. He’s got the cheat codes, he’s doing everything right, everything will fall into place soon.

“Nearly as good as coffee, really,” he adds, desperation in his voice.

“I have to leave now,” Sonny says. “Good talk, cuz.”

*****

**Vanessa.**

“Your boyfriend’s a goddamn disaster waiting to happen,” is how Sonny opens the call.

“Tchyeah, don’t need to tell me twice,” Vanessa says, putting speakerphone on so she can keep sorting her laundry. “Wait, which one?”

“In this case, the one I’m _allegedly_ related to.”

“What’s he done?”

Sonny inhales loudly, winding up for a speech. Vanessa folds some t-shirts, humming to herself. 

“So he’s been tellin’ me he wants to pick up some hobbies but didn’t know where to start, right? And I told him to just try a couple things out, experiment with it. Meaning like, maybe go to a dance class once a week, read a couple new books. You know, like a normal person would? Only of course Usnavi’s so fuckin’ extra that he took it to heart times a billion and he’s trying everything out, and I mean _everything_. It’s insane, Vanessa. At this rate I give it a week before he accidentally joins a cult because _‘the internet said it’d be good for me, Sonny’_.”

Vanessa tosses a couple dresses and shirts the end of the bed to hang up later. She kinda likes sorting laundry, though catch her ever telling anyone that. Sometimes she organizes Usnavi’s room because his drawers always look like the Chernobyl of clothes no matter how hard he tries to keep it neat, and she always pretends it’s a big drag but honestly she finds it relaxing. Maybe Sonny should fold more laundry. He sounds like he’s about to bust an artery. “Are you sure you’re not overreacting just a touch here?”

“Trust me. He was — actually, maybe you should sit down for this.”

“I am sitting down.” Vanessa balls a pair of socks and tosses them with perfect accuracy into the open drawer across the room. Nothin’ but net.

“He was _drinking green tea.”_

_“_ What the _fuck_ ,” Vanessa says, her next pair of socks missing the drawer bya mile. She picks up the phone to give the conversation her full attention. “Dios mío, is he sick or something?”

“Possessed, more like. He’s texted me three separate articles about the benefits of clean eating since yesterday, he’s turning into the Pinterest mom I never wanted.” 

“Shoulda known something was up when I caught him meditating the other day,” she muses.

Sonny makes an unholy screeching sound. Vanessa holds the phone away at arm’s length. “He was doing what? And you didn’t think to tell me?! _”_

“To be fair, he didn’t seem very into it,” she says. “You might not be too late to save him. Are there suddenly a bunch of mason jars full of oats and yogurt around? Has he bought a blender? He’s not making _soup_ , is he?”

“He was wearing purple yoga pants last time I was at yours, is that a symptom?”

“No, that’s fine, those are mine, he always wears them. He just thinks they’re comfy.”

“Legit? Can’t picture you in tie-dye, V.”

Vanessa tuts down the phone at him. “Cállate, they’re my chores pants, I don’t wear them outside. Anyway, this ain’t about me.”

“You’re right, we got bigger problems. He said tea was nearly as good as coffee. He said that out loud to me, his own flesh and blood! I shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. See what happens when you aren’t here to keep him in line?” 

“Calm the drama, kid,” she says. God save her from the fucking De la Vega family, how did she get so tangled up with them? “He just needs someone to put the brakes on for him. I left backup, didn’t I?”

***

**Ruben.**

“It’s because of the store,” Sonny says. He’s pacing, dizzily fast. “I saw they painted over Abuela, those cabrones, and it’s painted over his brain too, and now he’s turning into a lifestyle blog and we have to stop him before he starts spamming us all with listicles of Top Ten Spiritual Benefits Of Eating A Kombucha every five minutes.”

“I don’t know what a kombucha is,” Ruben says.

“Me either, and I don’t wanna find out, so are you with me?”

Ruben presses his fingers to his temples. He’s either getting a headache or there’s just a whole lot of Sonny happening at him right now. “With you on what _?_ You said you were coming over for medical advice and I thought it was some kind of emergency, then you just came in and yelled at me about hot drinks for the last —” he checks his watch “— seventeen minutes.”

“It is an emergency! Come on, man, what’s one of the top three things you’d associate with Usnavi? Pick a beverage, tell me which one is my cousin.”

“Yeah, I hear you that it’s unusual, but is it that big a deal? He did used to drink like eight cups of coffee a day, he could stand to cut down.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Sonny demands, slamming his hands on the table. Ruben suppresses a flinch, not successfully enough for Sonny to miss it. He dials his volume back. “Shit, sorry, man. But this is serious. He meditated, Ruben!”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s considered a legitimate therapeutic tool by a lot of professionals, you know. Anyway, this is supposed to be about what Usnavi wants, not what you think is “cool”.”  Ruben makes air quotes around the word _cool_ before he can stop his fingers moving. Good God. And to think half his job involves talking to teenagers, it’s a miracle his students don’t laugh in his face every second of the day.

“If I thought he was enjoyin’ it I wouldn’t be here but I think _he’s_ forgotten that’s what the goal was. He gets all manic sometimes, he’s the only person I know who could burn himself out by trying too hard to relax. Vanessa agrees with me.”

Ruben sighs. It’s true that Usnavi has been kind of intense recently, but then Usnavi’s always pretty intense, and so’s Ruben. Which, come to think of it, might be damning in itself. “I’ll give it to you that I might not have the clearest perspective on people not overdoing it. I did wake up to him organizing the closet by color at five AM the other day and it seemed sort of odd. I didn’t think to ask at the time.”

“See!” Sonny crows, but quietly, which Ruben appreciates.

“Let’s say you’re right, what would you want me to do about it anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Sonny admits. “I’d just feel better if you’re involved, you’re really good at solving things.”

Ruben unwillingly feels himself brightening at the compliment. Dammit, he’s easily bought. “Fine. Come on, let’s go harsh some buzz.” 

“We’re going right now?”

“No time like the present.” Ruben grabs both their jackets and shoos Sonny towards the door. 

“Can’t we at least figure out what we’re gonna say first? We could do it intervention style, write a letter explaining how his addiction to never sitting the hell down for two minutes is negatively affecting everyone’s lives by making him a fucking nightmare to talk to. Make a powerpoint or something.”

 The headache threatens again. “Jeez, you really are Usnavi’s cousin through and through, aren’t you?”

“¡Gracias!” Sonny chirps then suspiciously, “hey, wait a minute—“

“We’re just going to go and have a human conversation using our words and no homemade banners or pamphlets or informational videos,” Ruben says. “I know, I'm no fun at all. Come on. And maybe tone the theatrics down just a fraction?”

“Why does everyone always _say_ things like that to me,” Sonny asks, raising both arms up and directing his question towards the sky like he’s hoping god might send him a answer.

“I can’t imagine,” Ruben mutters.

***

“I don’t understand?” Usnavi says, looking from Ruben to Sonny with a frown. 

“Let me put it more simply,” Sonny says, holding is hands up like a picture frame to set the scene in. “You need to fuckin’ stop.”

“…Why?” Usnavi  seems genuinely bemused at the idea that suddenly taking on twenty simultaneous activities might not be the most sustainable approach to life. Ruben wonders if this is what it’s like to talk to  _him_  mid-project, and mouths a silent apology to his mom for all those years.

“Because this ain’t you," Sonny says. “All your classes and the lifestyle guru shit you've been feeding into your head, it ain’t you.”

"That’s the _point_ ," Usnavi says, rolling his eyes. "It’s a better version of me. New! Improved! Upgraded! Can now multiply a number and wash dishes and remember to do a thing."

“Dishes aren’t done,” Sonny points to the mess out on the kitchen countertop. “You’re not dressed. I thought you told me you had a system. Dishes in the morning, you told me. Don't seem to be working. Did you eat lunch today? Weren’t you supposed to be getting a haircut?”

“Ah, shit,” Usnavi says, touching the side of his hair where the buzzcut’s growing out into a fluffy halo, definitely not recently cut.“Okay, so I got caught up and missed the alarms I set for chores one time. Or a couple times. That ain’t anything new. And by the way who are you coming in here judgin’ the state of my kitchen?”

“I ain’t judging, I don’t care if your dishes are washed. I’m sayin’ you been juggling too many things and you’re starting to drop ‘em all, so maybe your plan needs some overhaul.”

“I just lost track of time,” Usnavi says. “Like, I did four lessons of the math course in one day, it ain’t as if I was just moping around on the couch again, so it’s still productive.”

“Alright,” Ruben says. He’s been sitting things out, but he’s coming round to Sonny’s point more as the conversation goes on. Usnavi’s wearing that frazzledsemi-electrocuted look he’d always devolve into around 4pm when he worked at the store, which is not the face of someone who’s spending a cheerfully chill month of unemployed self-discovery. “What were the math lessons about?”

“I mean, you’re kinda putting me on the spot here,” Usnavi says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It was. Math. Solve for x and all that. Numbers?”

“Yes, I assumed numbers,” Ruben says, “but what did you _learn?”_

“It was…I learned…I did all the lessons. I did _._ And mostly it made sense at the time. I ain’t stupid,” Usnavi adds, defensively. "I just don't remember it right now."

“I never said you were stupid. You’re doing so many things than none of it’s sticking, is what we’re saying. Why so much at once, querido? What’s the hurry?”

Usnavi jiggles his leg, agitated. “I gotta do it all so that it all works. It won’t work if I don't get it all done at once.”

“ _What_ won’t work?” Sonny asks, frustrated. “It’s fuckin’ hobbies, you're not building a fuckin' supercomputer. Are you even enjoying any of this shit you're doing?"

“You’re the one who told me to try new stuff out!” Usnavi complains, exasperatedly loud. He points at Ruben. “And _you’re_ the one who’s always sayin’ shit about how physical and mental health are so related. What, now you're both kvetchin’ because I actually listened to you? No pleasing some people, is there?”

“What in the whole fuck are you even talking about?” Sonny returns, even louder. “Can you really not get it through your damn skull that you don’t _need_ to be different or more productive or whatever you’re tryna achieve? If I’d known that’s where you’d take this I never woulda encouraged you! You do _remember_ that the whole point of this time off was for you to chill out and enjoy yourself for once in your life? Coño, Usnavi, you can’t be this bad at having fun.”

“I definitely didn’t tell you to do any of this,” Ruben says. “Pretty sure I specifically told you to take things slow, actually, not to channel all your therapy into every aspect of your life in one giant woosh until your head explodes.”

“I—“ Usnavi says. “That’s…no, you’re wrong, that’s not what I’m doing. Or. I mean, I have to, but it’s not a bad thing, I—you don’t understand!”

“That’s very accurate,” Ruben says. "I don't understand. So explain it."

“Seconded,” Sonny agrees. “Mierda. I’m sorry for gettin’ pissed, I ain’t tryna bring you down or anything, Usnavi. I just don’t _get_ it. Why are you being so stubborn about this? You must know as well as we do this ain’t makin’ you happy.”

“I,” Usnavi says. “It, you don’t, I’m not—it’s a—I—godmotherfucking dammit sonofabitch!”

He makes a spasmy gesture like he’s throwing something across the room, and just _leaves_. No door slam or rage, one second he’s there and the next he’s gone.

“Uh,” Ruben says, too surprised to call after him. “¿Que?”

“That definitely didn’t go how I wanted it to,” Sonny says. “I told you we shoulda prepared letters.”

***

**Usnavi.**

Pigeons peck at the birdseed Usnavi’s been scattering round his feet. He squirms uncomfortably on the damp ground and shoves the empty paper bag back in his pocket alongside all the other crap that his warmest jacket has built up over winter: crumpled receipts and spare change and an green apple flavor chapstick; a single glove, no idea what happened to the other one; a few loose Starbursts that have half-melted out of their paper; one of Ruben’s stim toys, a necklace with a chewable pendant that he’s been meaning to return for like three months now. Usnavi fumbles through the detritus for a slip of paper.

“Got your ticket, Abuela,” he says, picks some lint off it before showing it to the headstone he’s leaning against. He only really plays when he’scoming to see her. It’s not the same now she’s gone. “I used your numbers, but para ser honesto I don’t think we’ll ever win buying tickets at someone else’s bodega. Especially not _that_ one, they stack their cereals wrong. What kinda sickoputs the boxes laying down? Ain’t nobody got standards no more.” 

He sighs, thinking about his own bodega, the fresh grey paint he’d detoured past specifically to stare at before making his way to the cemetery. Obviously he didn’t stay in New York only for the mural or the store, and staying didn’t get rid of all the problems that took him to within an inch of leaving in the first place. Sometimes he still dreams of making his home on a quiet beach. But the grate was the sign and later the symbol, something to remind him he made the choice right on the days where all his doubts are loudly longing for warmer winter weathers.

“I’m glad I didn’t leave, don’t get me wrong,” Usnavi tells Abuela. “It’s just hard being here sometimes. Sonny’s right, I lost track. Started doin’ what I thought I _should_ be doin’ instead of chasing what I wanted. I ain't very good at this.”

He made a fucking fool of himself, didn’t he? Not that it’s the first time either Sonny or Ruben have seen him do that. Still embarrassing. And there’s dirty dishes in the sink and he missed half his alarms today, forgot to do half the shit he said he would. They were right, he’s cramming in too much too soon, throwing everything at the wall at once to see what sticks. God, he always hopes so hard. Every damn time he pushes it down or forgets for a while, he hopes it's the last he'll have to see of it. It always comes back like a rash. Doesn’t he ever learn?

“I just thought…well, whatever. I know what you’d say, but truth be told I ain’t so sure I should listen my heart either. What if it keeps me screwing up the same ways forever? But on the flipside if I do move onto something new, you and Mama and Pai ain’t ever gonna know me as whatever I end up being, and what if it ain’t someone you’re proud of? If I change too much, you might not recognize me.”

Tucking the lotto ticket back inside his pocket, Usnavi's fingers brush againstRuben’s necklace. He pauses, rubbing his thumb against it. “Guess I already have changed, though, huh? Y’know, I talk about him all the time, I forget I don’t even know how you or my folks woulda reacted. I wish I’d had enough time to tell you. You’d all be cool, ¿verdad? I’m still your Usnavi, even when I got a boyfriend.”

He pulls the necklace out to bite gently at the pendant, feeling the satisfying give under his teeth. It really is a soothing sensation, especially when he’s overamped and jittery. Being truthful, it’s more because of that than forgetfulness he hasn't got round to returning it to Ruben yet. “I know you’d love him. He treats me and Vanessa right, you don’t need to worry there, and he gets me as much as Vanessa does, except in a different way.”

The pendant is smooth and soft silicone, a circle suspended on a silky black cord. Usnavi goes to put it away then double-takes, stares at it for a long, long moment.

“Sometimes, I feel like he can see right inside my head and pick out things I don't tell anyone,” he says slowly. “Abuela, I gotta go, there’s…there’s something I need to do.”

***

“I wish you’d take a phone with you when you make dramatic exits,” Ruben says when Usnavi gets back to Vanessa’s place.“You weren’t off meeting any potential murderers again, were you?”

He’s lying on the couch with his own phone in his hand, raising one eyebrow at Usnavi over the top of it. No sign of Sonny even though it's not been more than an hour. Usnavi’s not sure if he’s relieved or if he wanted them both to be here for this. Might be easier this way. Might not be easy either way. Probably the latter.

“Not this time,” Usnavi says. He takes his coat off and perches on the arm of the couch by Ruben’s head, feet tucked up so he’s crouching. “I went to see Abuela. Sonny left?”

Ruben sits up, matching Usnavi’s posture. “Yeah, well, once we’d said _what the hell was that_ sixty times at each other we ran out of conversation and we didn’t know when you’d be back so he went home. Do you wanna explain literally any of that?"

“Only if you explain something to me first,” Usnavi says, taking the chewy necklace out of his pocket and dangling it out between them. Ruben tilts his head in a question. “This ain’t yours at all, is it? None of the things you keep ‘forgetting’ here are. When did you figure it out?”

“It was when we got high together,” Ruben answers, with an immediacy that’s startling, that makes Usnavi think he must have really thought about this already. Shoulda expected that, Ruben’s never let a casual thought pass by unanalyzed in his life, but it makes Usnavi feel like someone’s just read his private journal cover to cover, if he'd ever got round to keeping a journal properly.“You were playing with the tangle? I think subconsciously I always knew, you seemed so _familiar_ , but that was the first time I’d actually realized it. At first I started leaving other stuff around to confirm the hypothesis, and…then I just kept doing it because it seemed to have positive results.”

“I’m not an experiment,” Usnavi says. “You can’t go round testing theories on me just ‘cause you’re intrigued.”

“I was trying to —“

“I know you were tryna help. I ain’t a lab rat. You got no right to try and…and give me treatment, not without my permission. I wouldn’t have kept any of them if you’d told me, you know that I wouldn’t.”

Ruben winces, shamefaced, which he damn well should be. “I…yes, I did know. But I wasn’t trying to, to cure you or treat you or anything, I _swear._ I should’ve told you but I thought if I did it this way it didn’t have to be because of a label you didn’t want, it could just be because you’re Usnavi and you like having things to play with and it would make you less stressed. I guess I didn’t consider all the implications.”

“You mean you didn’t think I’d figure it out.”

“That too. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that I’m probably not as sorry as I should be.”

Usnavi winds the necklace cord around his wrist. “I only noticed ‘cause it ain’t your color. You’d never buy red for yourself.”

“Wouldn’t have felt right if it was blue, though,” Ruben says, with a shrug and a faintly apologetic smile. 

“Ha,” Usnavi says. “No, it really wouldn’t.”

He should be mad. He should be so much angrier than he is. It’s not Ruben’s choice to make. There’s a tangle toy in the pocket of the jeans Usnavi left on his floor last night, there’s a little metal slinky on the coffee table that he spent 20 minutes absently shifting from hand to hand this morning, on the kitchen counter there’s a cheap ring with two sections that spin around each other when he pushes his thumb against it that he’s started playing with it whenever he’s waiting for the coffee to brew. Until earlier today, he’d thought it was all Ruben’s stuff, and he's only just figured out that all of it was probably bought specifically for Usnavi, dropped casually into his lap or passed over while he's focusing on something else.

It’s help he never woulda let himself ask for. His hands are moving loud with anxiety, wishing he had any of those toys in reach. Ruben doesn’t tell him to stop moving.Ruben’s hands are loud too, in their own ways, at the moment scratching a fingernail over the ridged material of his cuffs, his sweater the color of the ocean on a summer day.

Usnavi stops fighting a current and lets himself fall into a riptide, towards whatever waits for him when it’s over.

“The…uh, the green tea, and the meditation and whatever. I was doing it because…shit.” He grits his teeth but goddammit, he’s going to say it, and he’ll look Ruben in the eye when he does. “Because. I read on the internet it’s supposed to help with symptoms of ADHD. I have ADHD.”

Ruben’s eyes go comically huge.Simultaneously, Usnavi thinks _that wasn’t so bad_ and _what the fuck did you say that for, why can’t you keep your big mouth shut?!_

“But you already knew that, yeah?” he adds, feeling like he’s just taken down Godzilla, feeling like an idiot for making a big deal over four little letters that have been an open secret among most everyone he knows for years anyway.

“I did,” Ruben confirms. “But knowing is very different to you telling me.”

“Everyone probably knows. But I’ve never _told_ anyone, I don’t think. Not since I was nine, and even then was mostly other people doin’ the tellin’ at me.” He wasn’t intending to talk about this part, but now he’s started it just comes out. Fuckin’ momentum, Usnavi’s got no defenses against it. “I’ve said how I was in special ed for a while, right?”

Ruben nods and waits, patient.

“I…didn’t like it very much,” Usnavi says quietly, sliding down to sit on the couch cushions properly. “I _hated_ it. It took a while for my parents to understand when I told them.They tried to get me back in my normal class straight away once they did but ended up I had to stay till the end of semester, so I was there about…four months total? Ish? I always used to be scared I’d get sent back.”

“What happened?” Ruben asks, almost a whisper. They’re mirror image body language, crosslegged facing towards the centre of the couch, Ruben leaning in like he’s trying to keep the conversation secret from the empty apartment around them.

“Probably nothing so bad as whatever you’re imagining,” Usnavi says. Always catastrophizing, their Ruben, it’s enough to break your heart. He smiles at him, but it's not enough to cut through the old, childish sadness sticking in his own chest. “Not everything’s a big terrible tragedy, querido.”

“Well, even tiny baby tragedies deserve attention,” Ruben says, stubborn. “Especially if they stick around for seventeen years causing trouble.”

“I was a kid, everything seems like a big deal at that age. I just didn’t like the rules.” He drums his hands on his knees. “Especially didn’t like sitting still. Never did see eye to eye with the teachers on _that_.”

“They made you feel bad? About fidgeting?” Ruben takes the bottom edge of Usnavi’s shirt and tugs it between his fingers, like talking about fidgeting has reminded him to get his own recommended daily dose in.

“About a lot of things. And it hurts not to move when I need to. They didn’t _do_ anything to me. But they don’t know what boredom really feels like. She told me not to make excuses.” Usnavi shrugs, wiggles his own fingers out in front of himself because who’s gonna tell him not to? “I don’t know why it seemed so scary, in retrospect. I coulda just ignored them.”

“You were nine,” Ruben says. “You were just a kid. They were adults, _teachers_. They had all the power.”

“It was just normal school punishments. Bad reports or losing recess or being sent out of class,” Usnavi says. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing. Ruben’s only saying what he already knows, giving him exactly the response he wanted, but at the same time almost wants Ruben to not get it, so that Usnavi can fight his own case, so he can get mad about it. “I mean, you hear some heinous shit, right?”

“A punishment’s a punishment,” Ruben says, with low, fierce insistence. “And they gave it to you just for being who you are, to train you into being someone else. They made you feel unsafe and then they took the all the tools you use to make yourself feel safer and made those unsafe too, for six hours a day every weekday, and they said it was for your own good.”

“ _Quiet hands, Usnavi,”_ Usnavi says, with more bitterness than he knew he still felt. Ruben’s eyebrows furrow so hard they almost meet in the middle. For some reason it makes Usnavi want to laugh. “And then you show up. In your goddamn sweaters, all “what up, here, I got you a freakin’ slinky to play with because I thought you might want to move your hands around,” and you make it sound like a good thing. I stay away from this shit for seventeen years just because some _bitch_ of a teacher used to make me sit with my hands on the table while she told me I wasn’t good enough, and you make me want to face it again. Who gave you the _right?”_

“I could do that with the rest of it, too,” Ruben says, earnestly. He leans in even closer, fingertips resting on Usnavi’s knees. “It doesn’t have to be like that. It shouldn’t have been like that. I could help you make it something good.”

God, he already has been. Doesn’t he know that? Does he think Usnavi would even be able to have this conversation if Ruben’s very presence in his life hasn’t been scratching quietly away at thoughts so old they’re not even processes any more so much as part of his permanent wallpaper? Seventeen _fucking_ years.

“I-I was hoping if I just admitted it to myself, maybe that counted as accepting it, and once I did that then it’d go away, for good this time. Ignoring it didn’t work, but I thought if I faced it then as long as I read enough and tried hard enough and did the right things in the right order…” he says. “Stupid, right? Whole reason I get so touchy about therapy is ‘cause I don’t want nobody tryna fix me or make me act different, and then I just go ahead and do it to myself anyway.”

“Cheaper than letting a doctor do it, at least,” Ruben says, and Usnavi does laugh at that. “It’s not stupid. You’re not stupid.”

“It is what it is,” Usnavi says, which isn’t any kind of real response but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Are you gonna tell Sonny? He was worried you left because you were mad at him earlier.”

Usnavi wishes that his answer were a confident _yes, I’ll tell him_ : instead, he bites the edge of his thumb and shrugs. It’s one thing talking about it with Ruben, someone who understands on an innate level a thing that’s only ever meant being lonely before. _You seemed familiar,_ he said, and familiar’s the right word in spite of how different they are, to the point that Usnavi kinda wonders if maybe ADHD isn’t the only thing he is. That train of thought can stay in the station for now. Usnavi’s got enough to think about. 

It’s something else entirely to tell Sonny, or Vanessa, or the world.People can love you and still not get it at all. Usnavi doesn’t want to make himself a mystery. 

Ruben takes his hand. “You don’t have to. It’s your choice. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to tell me.”

“I think I needed a push,” Usnavi says. “I don’t wanna run out of time again. I don’t wanna have any regrets, or—or keep letting what other people might think get in the way. But some people their opinion actually matters, and I got no idea how he’ll react. I’m not even sure how _I’m_ reacting.”

“He might not understand totally, but he’ll be on your side. Sonny thinks the world of you, cariño.”

“For now,” Usnavi says. “What if I embrace this side of me and it turns out this side of me is actually a huge jerk? Who knows? You don’t know.”

“Alright, now you’re just actively digging for ways to feel bad,” Ruben says, pushing Usnavi’s hat down over his face then immediately lifting it and kissing him hard. “You’re not gonna lose anyone by being more yourself. You’re our Usnavi, and we all love you so goddamn much. I promise that isn’t going to change.”

***

This is _Vanessa_ , of all people, and Sonny was almost anticlimactically accepting about it though if Usnavi knows anything about his cousin he was sixty tabs deep into research the second Usnavi left last night and will probably come round with seventy pamphlets and a Congrats On Your Dysfunctional Brain cake sooner or later. Vanessa shouldn’t be nervewracking. Ruben insists she’ll be fine - “she was fine with me when I told you both,” he points out, “if anything, this just shows she has a type” - but it’s still reassuring to have him sitting over in the armchair for background moral support while Usnavi calls her.

“What up,” she says. "You look grouchy. That's my steez."

“I gotta tell you something I’m super uncomfortable about,” he says, forgetting a hello in his nervousness. “Don’t make a joke about it. Or maybe just don’t say anything, I ain’t ready for another conversation yet.”

“Shit, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“ _Vanessa._ ”

“Sorry! It’s a reflex. Go ahead, babe.”

“I have ADHD,” he says. It’s no easier the third time. Maybe he’ll get used to it.

Vanessa raises her eyebrows. She’s slouching in her chair with the dusty remnants of the day’s hastily-removed makeup still on her face, beautiful even post-work slobby, or maybe that only enhances her, and she’s watching him through the screen with something deep and imperceptible in her mascara-smudgy eyes. Usnavi wonders whether she’s ever spoken to Ruben about any of this, whether she remembers the times it’s almost come up before Usnavi talked around it or got all prickly or straight up ditched mid-conversation.

“Okay, honey,” she says softly. “Okay then. So! What should we talk about instead?”

Usnavi nods gratefully and takes the offered exit. “Look what I got back last night.”

Reaching to the side, he pulls up his newly-returned guitar. It was a fifteenth birthday present, already second-hand, and Usnavi had loved it deeply for three years before life got busy. Then it mostly had sat in the corner gathering dust til Sonny showed an interest and borrowed it long-term a few years ago. It’s back home with Usnavi now. He’s a little rusty but he’s not forgotten the shape of playing it, like meeting up with a friend you haven’t seen for years and immediately falling back into a rapport. 

Vanessa claps with delight. She never used to do that. Picked it up off Ruben, Usnavi notes. Funny how they all pass pieces of themselves between each other.

“Shit, I forgot you even had that!” she says. “I ain’t seen you play for years.”

“It was Sonny’s idea. He says instead of trying to be a new me I should maybe try and appreciate the old me a little more. He never really got into it, anyway.”

“He’s a real sharp kid, ain’t he?” Vanessa says affectionately, and Usnavi beams with cousinly pride.

“Sure is. Must be from his mom's side.” Picking down each open string individually, Usnavi feels more than hears the places where it’s minutely wrong and twiddles accordingly with the tuning pegs. “I’m still gonna keep trying some new things out, I think, but it’s nice having somethin' I already know I love to come back to.”

“It suits you. Making music. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it first.”

“Guess I sort of lost touch. I didn’t even realize I missed playing till I started again.” He strums open once more and now all the strings sing right. Usnavi knows pitch down to his core.

“Hey,” Vanessa says. “Totally unrelated to anything we’re definitely not talking about…" Usnavi picks out a few anxious minor chords. "I love you. _All_ of you. So don’t you fuckin’ forget it, Usnavi De la Vega.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he says. C major.

“I hate to say I told you so, Usnavi, but I’m gonna anyway,” Ruben calls over from his chair.

Usnavi smiles down at his guitar. It ain’t so simple as a couple conversations and problem solved, but there’s a happy E major feeling in his heart right now that he plays out in a quick scale. It sounds like home. It sounds like him. It sounds like a long time ago. Things are okay so far. Three people know, and the world didn’t end. Usnavi lets his hands take over the progressions and the music that comes out of them is fast and bright and so, so loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruben has no social media so he just steals other people's
> 
> for more on that usnavi ADHD backstory go read [rise to me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192683/chapters/35235254)
> 
> or just come [hang out with me on tumblr!](https://thisstableground.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n: no illustrations on this one because my wrist is messed up and i couldn't really think of anything i'd be happy drawing anyway.
> 
> check the end notes for warnings, it's not a happy chapter. takes place late february]

_Extra kick and then some, the comedown hits hard and never fades because after the rave is a rock, a hard place, the kobayashi maru that Ruben’s life has become. All days converge to one from comedown to sleepless to escape, but he always knows when it’s 8:25. It’s gone 8:25, Ian’s handcuffed to a radiator, Ruben’s been awake three days straight but he’s got to survive the night before he can rest. All roads converge to dead end except the one he’s taking now, skipping town Jamaica-bound seeking safety in the sun. He only needs to make it to morning._

His body knows before his brain. Comes in waves, goes in waves, his thoughts like an ear to a seashell echo lowly the soft lapping of water on a shoreline far away. Like a tide, like the tightening of thread in a seam, pulled towards the door every night checking too often that it’s locked, towards the clock every evening. The sight of eight twenty-five always feels wrong, but recently just the eight is enough to make him shiver, and then seven starts to catch him glancing back every few minutes too, dreading the changeover to the hour.

Ruben’s brain finally catches on at the end of class on Friday, checking his schedule for next week and seeing he’s got two days vacation blocked out, booked at the very start of the year and totally forgotten until now.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he says to himself, louder than is appropriate in front of a class. Everyone looks up at him. 

“Dr Marcado?”Carlos asks. “Something wrong?”

Ruben checks the clock. 5:11. 

“Nothing, never mind,” he says briskly, subtly sliding his fingers up his sleeve and relieved to find his skin dry, no slick slide of blood. “I just forgot about something important. Make sure to have your lab reports completed by Tuesday, DrFrankswill be covering so send any questions to her. I’ll see you all next Friday.”

He makes it to his office to get his stuff by 5.23. Almost three hours and still feels like he’s cutting it fine. Home by seven if the subway’s not delayed. Shit, but he told Usnavi they’d get take-out at Vanessa’s tonight. Rain check.

“Sorry, Abi, I’m in a hurry tonight,” he says before she can start up a conversation, and starts riffling through his desk for next week’s notes. “The third years are all ready for Tuesday labs, there shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle there, all the supplemental stuff for my Monday classes is in _this_ folder, and my out-of-office is on from now until Wednesday so if there’s a problem that’s the absolute earliest I’ll be able to deal with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Abigail says. “I think I can handle a couple days of cover. Going anywhere nice on your long weekend?”

“No,” Ruben says. 5:25. He needs to leave _now_. “Definitely not.”

***

**Usnavi:  
** \- you know him, he says he’s just tired  
\- but it feels like a Thing

**Vanessa:  
** \- how bad?

**Usnavi:  
** -7/10? nothings exploded but idk where his head’s at, his attention span is worse than mine rn 

**Vanessa:  
** \- woah that sounds like a 10 to me

 **Usnavi:  
** -plus he blew off our friday plans and didnt stay over at all this weekend :( bed is lonely  
\- if it goes on much longer ill have to buy two of those body pillows w pictures of you both to fulfil my needs

**Vanessa:  
** \- ewwww hope theyre machine washable

 **Usnavi:  
** \- i meant g-rated hugging needs!!! ffs youre so gross man  
\- but what should i do  
\- about our boy not about my cuddle withdrawal

**Vanessa:  
** \- listen to your heart

 **Usnavi:  
** \- :|  
\- so you don’t know then

 **Vanessa:  
** \- fuckin obviously i dont know  
\- sorry, babe. i really wish i did but i got nothin

 **Usnavi  
** \- ima try talkin to him again tomorrow  
\- last time he was like this it turned out he was textin w jason soooo

 **Vanessa:  
** \- it wont be that again  
\- ruben wouldnt do anything that put you in danger

**Usnavi:  
** \- si but would he put himself danger if he thought we wouldnt find out?

**Vanessa:  
** \- you should talk to him tomorrow

***

_Promises made to keep it a secret and Ruben doesn’t go back on his word even to the end, but there’s a hundred faces he stares into hoping they’ll know without him speaking - see me, why can’t you see me, why can’t you see there’s something wrong here? There’s nothing of recognition from the crowds he was dragged through unseen, until he’s forced visible to skin and blood and soul, and if help is too much to hope for after this all he’ll ever wish is to be invisible._

Picking at it won’t help, as his mama’s always told him. Ruben presses his fingertips down hard into his arm and drags them downwards, the fainter scars fading as his skin blanches under the pressure and coming back immediately when he releases. If anything it should be easier, time taking it further distant in the rearview. At the least it shouldn’t be any harder than all the other days, because what changes except the calendar? He still survived. He still has the life he built from new foundations.

Ma is asleep by now. She’ll be at work tomorrow and won’t be able to talk with him all day like last year. He told her he’d be fine, he’s got other people to help him now, didn’t mention that he hasn’t actually told them what tomorrow is. Or what tonight is, technically.

Picking at it won’t help. There’s plenty that might. Sleep would definitely help, but every time he lies down the mattress underneath him turns into metal, the empty room around him smells of blood and smoke, so he sits on the floor instead. He hasn’t eaten since lunch but he lets hunger gnaw him dizzy while he scrolls up and down his contacts list from Usnavi to Vanessa and back again. They would help. They’d _want_ to help. He can’t ask them. The longer he waits the more he needs them here and the less he can call them till he slams the phone down on the floor in useless anger. The already-cracked screen crunches, dropping a few shards when he picks it up to check the damage.

Fuck it all. He beats the phone into the ground, into the wall beside him, till it’s shattered so completely he couldn’t call anyone even if he wanted to, then he throws the useless casing aside and picks some glass out of the side of his thumb, sucking on the cut with his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to look at the blood.

Usnavi’s only half an hour train ride away, he’d come running if Ruben asked. Vanessa might still be online at this time, she’d talk to him. There’s no point pretending he’s gonna tell them. Goddammit, he’s such a fucking idiot. Doesn’t tell anyone what’s wrong then wonders why they aren’t around. Doesn’t want anyone to look at him then wonders why nobody’s here to see how much he’s struggling. Doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t get help, and then he’s got the audacity to be upset about it? 

Why is it still like this? Things should be different and they should be better now and Ruben should be more than the broken thing he is. He needs so much it radiates, a pain like he’s cracking open across the numbness of the deeper, raised scars to blare it out to whoever will receive the message, loud enough and bright enough that surely it must be heard even across state lines, across subway lines. If he wants them hard enough, maybe they’ll know without being told. He’s a beacon and a sinking ship and the rocks that pierced the hull all at once, memory flooding in around the gaps to drag downward to the ocean floor: remember how the air tasted, remember the way it felt? Remember how much it hurt? 

It hurts like new again, and he rubs at his arms, trying to scrub the marks out of his skin with the heel of his hand, then his fingernails. Two years, and they’re faded white from pink and not likely to ever fade more, they’re never gonna get better than this. Ruben will never be more than this. He wants to sleep.He wants to die. He wants to rip his skin off and let his soul crawl out of the wreckage to find a new clean body to live in, one that he can keep safe and locked away and untouched because he knows better this time, he’s learnt.

Morning comes late in February. A night is a long time to survive.

***

_Circadian rhythms happen to other people. Usnavi’s perception of time cycles on the half-yearly: he doesn’t really know when he is until they’re suddenly in every December breath he takes, and he hears her in July’s fireworks. Lock him in a soundproof room for the rest of his life and he’s pretty sure he’d still feel those times exact, chiming in his bones louder than a church bell on the hour. Some days stay scratched into your soul forever._

Usnavi’s just finished the cereal part of his breakfast - knock-off Lucky Charms eaten dry and straight out the bag, a truly classic Usnavi Breakfast, he knew that real food kick he was on wouldn’t last - and is busy tossing the marshmallows he’d set aside into the air to try and catch in his mouth when his phone rings.

He answers without looking at caller ID, hits himself in the cheek with a marshmallow and says “yo, you got Usnavi.”

“Are you with him? Is he there?” the caller asks, breathlessly.

“Estefanía?” Usnavi double-checks ID to make sure. Yep, it’s Ruben’s mom. Why the hell is she calling him before eight in the morning? “Is something going on? Are you and the girls alright?”

“It’s Rubén,” she says.

Shit. Usnavi’s immediately heading to the closet, stripping out of his pajamas as he goes. Feels super weird talking to his boyfriend’s mom while he’s pantsless even though she can’t see him, but if he has to run out and save his boyfriend from…god knows what, honestly, when it’s Ruben, he should at least be dressed. “¿Qué pasa?”

“H-he said he’d call at seven, but he didn’t and his phone is turned off and I left three messages that he hasn’t responded to and — Usnavi, Rubén _always_ calls when he says he will except for when…when…“ she breaks off into stifled crying.

Oh, damn. There’s a thousand innocuous reasons Ruben might not have called, but Usnavi knows way too well the terror that loss can introduce, the smallest things like a missed call or forgotten plans suddenly holding so much potential heartbreak. Poor Estefanía.

“Okay, don’t panic,” he soothes. “I bet he just forgot to charge his phone. He usually gets to college by eight thirty so we can just call his work number…hey, you still there?"

“Rubén isn’t at work today,” she says, slowly, and Usnavi's stomach drops. “Didn’t…didn’t you know that?

“What? No, he didn't say anything. _What_?! Why isn’t he at work? Is he sick, what the hell’s going on?”

“He said he’d tell you. It was today that he went missing. Two years today.”

“Fuck!” Usnavi exclaims, and doesn’t even apologize reflexively, because if any situation called for cussing it’s this. “Fuck, okay, I’ll go get him right now, I’ll let you know when I’m with him. Don’t worry, he’ll be safe with me, Estefanía, I swear.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer. Nothing’s important other than getting a train to Ruben’s part of town. Usnavi knows the feeling from his side of things, too, and Ruben’s been alone all night.

_***_

_Near death should awaken with relief under gentle medication, IV in the arm to keep it numb, surrounded by loved ones. It’s how it works on TV._ _Later, Ruben will try to rewrite it in his mind to how it should have been, but he never manages to fool himself that he was anything other than alone, watching blood dark-blueish in the night illuminate to deep scarlet under the early sunrise. He made it till morning, but it came too late to save him._

Near death should reawaken surrounded by loved ones. Ruben doesn’t even know if he slept or if he’s dreaming or if he’s dead but wherever he is, his mama’s not here, no matter how many times he tries calling out to her - “ayúdame, me duele, me duele, I don’t want to die like this.”

This time, he gets an answer: “No vas a morir, mi querido, estás a salvo. Aquí estoy, estàs a salvo conmigo.”

Language right. Voice wrong. Ruben thinks about meeting a boy outside a bodega and perspective on his timeline cross-dissolves through to present, or a dream fades out. Is he waking up, lying curled on his side in the corner of his room, back against the wall? If he is, he’s not waking up alone: Usnavi’s crouching a distance away, hands held open to show there’s nothing in them.

“Usnavi?” Ruben says, pushing himself upright. Movement comes like a lagging cursor on a screen, dragging slow and out of sync. So does speech. “You f-f—, you f— goddammit! You found me? How?”

“Your mom called me when you didn’t answer her this morning. I guess that’ll be why,” Usnavi says, indicating the shattered phone a few feet to Ruben’s other side. “Mi corazón, why didn’t you _tell_ us? You shouldn’t have to do this on your own. We were both worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Ruben says, against all evidence. “Ian isn’t gonna let me die, I might still be useful. Still alive, if I can just—“ he grabs at his wrist, a useless tourniquet. “—fuck, I need, I need stitches! I-I-I have to stop the bl— the bleeding.”

He looks around frantically for something to work with. Wasn’t there a nurse here with him a minute ago? Isn’t he outside a clinic? There’s something wrong with what he’s saying, Ruben knows it, in his soul and from the way Usnavi’s face is briefly puzzled and frightened.

“Well,” Usnavi says, cautiously, “you _have_ kinda scratched yourself up there, but no stitches. Not this time.”

It’s a lie. It must be a lie, Ruben’s tripped himself back into a memory of dying a million times through the night catching sight of the flecks of blood on his arms. When he looks now though he can see it’s only pinprick red like an eczema rash where he’s been picking at it. No stitches. Nothing compared to what he’s already got. He prods at the irritated skin, then fits his fingernails back into one set of small crescent-shaped gouges.

“Oh, hey, come on, don’t do that,” Usnavi says, reaching for him.

“ _Don’t._ ” Usnavi’s hands hold up in instant surrender, and Ruben still shudders even though there’s whole feet between them. Is he scared of what it would feel like or scared he won’t feel it at all? His body doesn't feel attached to him. “Don’t touch me. And what does it matter? It’s just scratches. It won’t kill me.”

“It still matters. Please, I’m gonna help you but you really gotta stop doing that.”

“It won’t kill me,” Ruben repeats, scratching over the numb stretch of one of the deeper scars where surface sensation is always dulled.Everything is dulled. What does it matter, any of it? He’s so fucking tired. “I’ve got pretty limited options there. Can’t even leave the apartment, so it’s not like I could jump off a roof or in front of a train or any of the easy choices.”

“Ain’t that a relief,” Usnavi says. His teeth are gritted, the words strained through it.

“I don’t think I could do it with a knife, that’s out,” Ruben continues, watching Usnavi’s face. 

“You’re not going to do it at all. Can you—”

“I suppose there’s always painkillers. I’ve got enough.”

“Bueno,” Usnavi says, with a manic forced calm. “I’ll get rid of them. Look, I can get one of your fidgets or something, if —”

“It’s a slow way to go, liver toxicity. Nasty stuff. Takes a couple of days,” Ruben says, but _why_ is he saying it? He doesn’t want to die, or at least he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, and Usnavi’s here right now without Ruben even having to ask him, he and Vanessa have always been there against all expectations. Ruben’s two years past being helped, and so fucking angry that he feels like he’s losing his mind. “You might find me before it had chance to kill me completely, but probably you’d be too late anyway.”

Usnavi goes deadly pale, drops out of his crouch with his knees thudding loudly to the floor like he’s been pushed. “Stop it! I don’t—stop _saying_ this shit, you’re scaring me, and for fuck’s sake, Ruben, _please_ stop scratching yourself! 

He grabs at Ruben’s hand.

“No!” Ruben gasps, twisting away and kicking out wildly with no idea if it lands.He’s _not_ going back, he’ll fight all the way. “No, fuck you, get away from me, get the _fuck_ away from me!”

Disconnected from any comprehension of it, he can hear that Ian’s babbling apologies, _lo siento lo siento mucho lo siento_ all in tearful Spanish and that seems like it should mean something but it doesn’t. All Ruben cares about is that for the first time whatever he’s saying is working, because Ian’s let go of him, he's backing away. Something is working . He keeps raging long after the door closes.

***

_The promise of leaving was the closest thing to a home Vanessa had for twenty-two years, the thing she went back to for safety on tired days and restless nights. On the first night of freedom, after everyone leaves and it’s just her in the apartment she’ll grow to call her own, she thinks about an empty bedroom left behind in the barrio, thinks about her mom left behind, and cries alone in an unfamiliar room full of boxes, wondering if it’s been this way so long that leaving is the only home she’ll ever have, so that she’ll always feel in the wrong place at the wrong time._

Nothing good ever comes of being woken up by a phone call. Scratch that, nothing good comes of being woken up at all, especially not when it’s still dark out, and  _very_ especially not by a phone call.

“Cállate,” Vanessa says to the screen. It’s Usnavi. Ugh. She can’t exactly ignore him. “Shit. Goddammit. Hey, babe.”

“I fucked up,” Usnavi says. See? Morning calls, always bad news. “I _really_ fucked up.”

“The hell d’you do this early?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. “S’barely even today yet.”

Usnavi takes a deep breath and— wait, is he _crying?_ Vanessa sits up. “Usnavi?”

“¡No quise hacerlo!” he says, his voice telltale squeaky. “Vanessa, I didn’t know what else to do, he didn’t even _tell_ us and I think he’s been awake all night, I just wanted to _help_ , I told her he’d be safe with me but he was sayin’ all this shit and I didn’t want him to get hurt and-and—I shouldn’t have done it, I made everything so much worse!”

“Usnavi! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she says. He’s talking so loud that she finds herself near-shouting too. “Tell me what’s goin’ on. Slowly.”

“Ruben,” he says. “Jamaica. It was two years ago, it was today. Estefanía called me to check in on him.”

Vanessa’s speechless for a moment. Now that Usnavi says it, obviously it had to be one day out of the year but somehow she never quite thinks of that day as something that occurred in the same reality that they live in. It's something that exists in a vacuum, the idea that there was a time when it was something that was happening, not something that already happened is incomprehensible. She forgets too often that scars have to start off as wounds.

“How bad is it?” she asks, timidly.

“You know how incredibly terrible a ten is?”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome to eleven. He's stopped yellin' at me, but I can hear him and, and he doesn't sound good.”

“I need coffee for this,” Vanessa mutters. As she stumbles out to the kitchen. Nina pokes her head out of her door, her face scrunched up with sleepy curiosity, mouthing _¿qué pasa?_ Vanessa must’ve woken her up talking so loud. She waves her off and Nina disappears back into her room with a shrug. 

“So what did _you_ do that you’re so upset about?” Vanessa asks once the coffee’s on.

“I…” Usnavi hesitates for a long time before quietly mumbling, “I grabbed his arm. Didn’t go well.”

“Seriously?! Qué demonios, dude, that’s like Ruben 101!”

“Yeah, I know, okay? But you didn’t see what he was like, he’s scratched his arms all to hell and smashed his phone up, and he kept saying all this fucked-up stuff about if he took a bunch of pills I’d find him too late and I thought, what if I’d come in this morning and he’d. Y’know.“

“Oh, _Usnavi_ …”

“So I wasn’t thinking, and then he flipped the fuck out and I can hear him in there but it’ll only make it worse if I go back in, and I don’t know what to _do!_ I’m just sitting outside his bedroom goin' crazy.”

The idea of doing nothing in a messy situation is unbearable to all three of them. Usnavi’s go-to is usually a hug. Probably best if he leans into a more Vanessa method today. 

“Okay,” she says in the briskest, most Let’s Get Shit Done voice she can muster, “if you can’t go in with Ruben, you can at least call his mom and let her know you’re with him if you ain’t done that yet, I bet that’ll make her feel better. See if he’s got food in the house for when he’s cooled down enough to eat, you know how much worse he is without food. And, uh, I hate to say it, but maybe make the place a little safer, if you get me? I’m sure he was bluffing but. Better to be careful.”

“I get you,” Usnavi says grimly, but at least he doesn’t sound hysterical any more with a task to do. “Vale, I can do all that. Can I call you back afterwards? Or, um, Facetime maybe? I know it’s early there but, I, uh, I just really need to see you right now, I think.”

“Yeah, s’long as you remember it’s 6am, so my face is straight garbage, no judging.”

She can hear Usnavi laugh a little. “Querida, that’s never gonna be true. I’ll be back in five.”

After he hangs up, she sits tapping her nails restlessly against the back of her phone case. Vanessa hates waiting. Suddenly Usnavi’s stress-cigarettes sound very appealing: a mindless vice would go down great at the moment. In lieu of that, she goes back to her room and sulks around aimless and angry, opening drawers just so she can slam them again angrily and screw it if the noise wakes anyone else because she is _seething._ If she thinks about who’s really to blame for today she’ll fucking scream, so instead all her anger gets divided up between Usnavi, for doing the one damn thing you never do when Ruben’s panicking, and Ruben for aiming exactly where he could hurt Usnavi the most, and at herself for not being where she should be. Two years ago today her boy was still bleeding, and Vanessa’s on the wrong side of the country.

“What’s that you said about garbage face?” Usnavi says when he calls back, with a wry smile. Usnavi’s a messy crier and he’s obviously been in tears, face as nearly red as his shirt and wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Gross,” she says.

He flips her off, sniffing. “Ay, we said no judging.”

“That was a one-way street. What did Ruben’s mom say?”

“Not much, I only told her I was at his place and he couldn’t talk right now,” Usnavi says. “I thought _‘sup, I had to pocket all his pills while he cried in his room ‘cause I’m a dumbass who gave him a flashback_ might not ease her mind.”

“Good call,” Vanessa says. “Don’t beat yourself up for it, man. It’s because of the day, not you."

“Yeah, I don’t know that, though,” Usnavi says. The screen goes black for a second and when it comes back he’s got his hat off, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if he thought I was one of them, or if he knew it was me and was scared anyway. I told his mom he’d be safe with me.”

“He is,” Vanessa insists. "It's their fault he's like this so blame them, not you. If it helps, _I’ve_ never felt unsafe around you."

Instead of looking comforted, Usnavi’s face crumples up. “Vanessa, I miss you so much. I need you here, _we_ need you. I wish you were home.”

“Me too,” she says, and actually means it. What the hell’s happened to her? Used to be she’d run away from this kind of emotional nightmare and now all she wants to do is run towards it. “Alright, al diablo con esto, I’m getting the next flight out.”

“Ain’t you got a shoot tomorrow?”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“You can’t just ditch your job.”

Vanessa shrugs. “They can fire me, I don’t care. I fucking miss you too, okay? And I’m not gonna sit around doing jack-all in California when I should be there. We stick with you in December, doesn’t Ruben deserve the same?”

“Claro que, but think it _through_ , Vanessa. We’re coming to see you in like two weeks, it’ll be so much money to fly back, and how do you think Ruben would feel if you got yourself fired because of him?”

“He’d beat himself up for the next six years, but you literally just said —”

“I wasn’t tryna guilt you back home. At least hold off until tomorrow? If things are still really bad then we’ll talk about it.”

“God, fine! Fine. I guess you’re right.” She flings herself down on her bed and punches the pillow.“This _sucks._  I don’t like it when my boys are sad, and I don’t know what I can do about it from all the way over here.”

Usnavi lies down too, on his side with his face resting on his arm like he’s in bed next to her. “Just…stay on the phone with me? Stay with me. Please.”

“I’m always with you, baby,” she says, three thousand miles away, and wonders if that’s a promise she broke before she even made it.

***

_The first few days until he finds a place to stay he’s in the clinic or on the streets by day, sleeping on the beach by night. Persistent itch of sand, persistent itch of mild infection, the taste of the air and the constant pull towards the sea. How easy to walk in there and never come out: the saltwater will only sting the wounds for a while, and he’ll be long gone before morning._

Ruben comes to reality alone. Post-breakdown hangover comes with headache and exhaustion and deep embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his temples with a groan, leaves his bedroom, almost tripping over Usnavi who’s lying on the floor in the hallway with his phone held up in the air.

“Hey there,” Usnavi says.

“Hey,” Ruben says. “I thought you left.”

“Nope, still here. I brung you a Vanessa,” Usnavi says, holding the phone out so he can see her. Ruben lifts his hand tiredly in greeting.

“Hey, honey,” Vanessa says. “Rough night?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Is it okay if we stay?"

With a sigh, he gestures them into his bedroom. “Sure. I’ll be back in a minute, just let me clean up.”

In the bathroom, Ruben carefully washes his hands and winces as he cleans up his arms. They’re gonna sting for a while. He takes out his medical box. There’s an empty space next to the tube of antiseptic cream where he knows he should have at least three packets of acetaminophen. _For fuck’s sake_ , he thinks, taking out the antiseptic and slamming the rest of the box down with a rattle. Of all the people in the world for Ruben to have said that shit to, the absolute last person should be Usnavi. Talk about hitting a sore point. _You’d be too late,_ what the hell is wrong with him?

“I wouldn’t actually have taken the pills,” he says as he goes back to his room. The sleeves of his sweater are sticking to the cream on his arms. Usnavi’s still standing, looking like he’s ready to leave any minute. “You didn’t need to hide them.”

“Gonna keep hold of them anyway, I think,” Usnavi says. Vanessa says nothing. Ruben wants to rile against the babysitting, but accepting it seems like the least he can do.

“Then can I at least take couple? My head is pounding.” He dry-swallows the two tablets Usnavi passes over and sits on the bed with his head in his hands. “Look, I totally crossed a line. I didn’t think before I said it and I went way too far.”

Usnavi nods. “If you need me to talk you off a ledge I’m right there, dude, you know I am, but don’t _ever_ throw that shit in my face again, you hear me?”

“I hear you. I’m sorry,” Ruben says miserably. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I wanted you to hurt too. It was a fucked up thing to do.”

Finally sitting on the bed, as far away from Ruben as possible, Usnavi tilts the phone his way so Vanessa’s still in the conversation, but doesn’t make eye contact himself. “I crossed a line too. You told me not to touch you.”

“I deserved it.”

“Hey, no,” Vanessa says. “That ain’t how we do things here, Ruben. No’s no, you don’t have to earn that.” 

Usnavi picks at a hole in his jeans, still looking down. “You hit a nerve, and I didn’t want you to keep hurting yourself. But I told you a long time ago I’d only ever touch you if you were okay with it, and I meant that, and I’m sorry. And you’re sorry as well, so how about we both promise never to do it again and call it done?”

Ruben’s fingers are itching. “Why are things always so _simple_ with you two _?_ I brought up the worst thing that ever happened to you to drag you down to my level, and then we just apologize and move on? I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?”

“All of —“ he gestures loosely between the three of them, frustrated tears coming to his eyes. “The best I could get for twenty-seven years was a friend who didn’t give a shit if I got killed so long as I helped him first, and what, two years later I’m meant to believe _this_ is how my life is now? Just everyone being nice and forgiving and having great sex and all this happy ever after bullshit? That’s not how it works! I keep fucking up all the time and nothing happens, you’re not even mad at me, and I don’t _understand it!”_

Usnavi says, “I am a little bit mad at you, actually. But that ain’t a priority right now, making sure you get through today is. I ain’t like him, Ruben. Just because I’m upset don’t mean it’s something you gotta pay for.”

“You think you’re the only one who had to get used to this?” Vanessa says. “Do you know how long it took me to stop tryna make Usnavi want to break up with me, because I thought it was inevitable and wanted to get it over with? And that he’d never say anything because he thought if he called me out I’d leave him? We nearly torched the whole relationship before it even got started before we figured out that apologizing is better than mind-games.”

That catches Ruben by surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda embarrassing how bad we were at it, looking back. And this is newer for you, you missed a lot of the mistakes we made at the start, so you feel like you’re the one who don't know how to let yourself be treated right and god knows you’ve got every right to be fucked up, but you ain’t as original as you think, buddy. Things might have been different for you before, but things also fuckin’ sucked before so why would you wanna do it again? It ain’t simple, not really, it wasn’t with two of us and it isn’t with three, but we don’t _wanna_ fight over mistakes or make each other feel like shit for screwing up sometimes. We wanna work things out, because we love each other. We love _you_.”

“You shouldn’t,” Ruben whispers. “I’m no good for you, I’m poison. You were better off before I was here.”

“We love you,” she repeats, pointing at him angrily. “God, I don’t know how else to make you see it.”

“I don’t know how to make _you_ see it’s not safe to be near me,” Ruben says. “If it’s not me then it’s gonna be them, Jason was the good one and look what he was capable of, if Ian—if Ian finds out I’m here, that I have people who care about me…”

_I wonder if they’ll even miss you. Ha, maybe Dr Cole should drop in and give his condolences, what do you think? What flowers does your mom like?_

_Stay the hell away from my family!_

_Or you’ll do what?_

“Ian’s gone, honey. He’s dead.”

_“_ You don’t _understand!_ He’ll find out, he’ll come for me like he did on the plane, I tried to get out and there’s no way out. You don’t know what he said he’d to do to me if I ever came back.”

_Pity we don’t have more time here, there’s so much we could do together. Wanna hear what’ll happen next time you try and screw me over?_

“Ruben, stay with us.” Usnavi’s bouncing his leg nervously, the bed shaking with the movement. “Come back, querido, you’re all mixed up. It’s 2018, you’re in New York. Ian’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

Ruben closes his eyes, shaking his head in despair. _You think this is the worst I can do? This is nothing._ You’re _nothing._ “He’ll kill you both, and he’ll keep me alive just for _fun._  I won’t do it again, I can’t _._ I’ll die before I let him touch me again.”

“Usnavi, open the curtains,” Vanessa says urgently.

“¿Qué?”

“Sun’s risen where you are,” she says, Usnavi’s footsteps already thudding across the room halfway through the sentence and then there’s light, the color behind Ruben’s closed eyes a weak shift from black to reddish.

“Ruben, mira,” Vanessa coaxes. “Morning. He can’t be here if it’s morning, that’s how it works, ¿verdad? It’s daylight out. Look.”

_Look at me. You don’t get to hide from this._ Look _at me!_

“I don’t want to,” Ruben weeps. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s nine-thirty, you can check the clock,” Usnavi says. “He won't get you. You can trust us.”

_Do you trust me?_

_No!_

_Close enough._

Does he trust them?

He opens his eyes, and finds morning as promised. The room is bright and the clock reads 9:37. Usnavi’s still holding onto one of the curtains, rubbing the fabric between his finger and thumb, and Ruben gives up. It’s too much to ask anyone but he’s so tired and he needs, he wants, it’s too much for him alone. 

“If…if he comes back, I wouldn’t be able to stay here. I’d have to run.”

“We know.”

“Will you stay with me?” he asks. “Will you help me?”

“We’d go anywhere with you,” Usnavi says, and Vanessa says, “come here, querido.”

Usnavi holds out the phone as Ruben approaches and, after a second, takes his hat off and silently offers that too. Ruben takes both, fitting the hat on his head and cradling the phone with as much care as he would holding Vanessa for real. She places her hand over her heart, an indescribable look on her face that makes Ruben mimic the gesture unconsciously, laughing tearfully with his palm dead centre over the place where Ian made the first incision. It hurts again now, but not like before: he _loves_ them, and it’s almost more than he can stand that they're still here. Through the window at his side he can see the city, New York that belongs to Usnavi and Vanessa, New York where it’s safe at least for today. New York, where Ruben belongs now, where he survived another night: February’s skies are grey and dim, but undeniably it’s morning. It’s daylight out.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: it's the jamaica anniversary, so there's a lot of talk about that, PTSD stuff, accidental-ish self-harm (skin-picking) and explicit talk about suicide.


	8. Chapter 8

**February 1st.**

“Heads up!” Ruben yells at Usnavi as he comes into Ruben’s apartment. Something small hits him in the chest then falls to the floor. Usnavi raises his hands belatedly to try and catch it.

“Yo, what the fuck, dog,” he objects, bending down to pick the thing up and examine it. It’s a little package of candy hearts. “Aww! What did I do to earn these?

“It’s Valentine’s day!” Ruben exclaims. He is adorable. And very early, but that's also adorable.

“Valentine’s is like a month away, hermoso.” Usnavi takes the first candy out of the packet. It says “you’re cute!” on it. He hands it to Ruben, who puts it in his mouth and says around it “it’s February first, Usnavi.”

“What? Since when?!”

“Pretty much the whole day. That’s why I remembered it was coming up, ‘cause they just put up a card display up in the…a…place I went to today, nowhere important.” Which means he went to a bodega somewhere, because Ruben gets shifty and guilty whenever he goes to a bodega like still needing to buy milk in a hurry is betraying the memory of Usnavi’s store. Usnavi would say it’s silly but he honestly finds it so touching that he ain’t actually called Ruben on it yet.

“Well, that’s still pretty early. You excited or somethin’?” Usnavi asks, and Ruben rocks up and down on his heels and beams at him, nodding. “Huh. I woulda pinned you as the kinda person who thinks it’s all Hallmark garbage. Y’know, a real Vanessa.”

“I totally was until this year,” Ruben confirms. “Funnily enough, I’ve also been single every Valentine’s day before now. Maybe coincidence, maybe time and love have softened me —“

“Probably that one.” Usnavi pats Ruben’s belly. “Blorp.”

“Gracias,” Ruben says. “But anyway, this year I’m excited and we should do a thing!”

“Yeees! I love doing things!” Usnavi claps, and then remembers the current circumstances of their lives. “Oh. Only our girl done up and left us, and I’m hella broke.”

“I’m not. It’ll be my treat.”

“¿Qué? No. You already paid my urgent care bills.”

Ruben gives him a disapproving stare. “Medical emergencies are not romantic gifts, querido. Let me do this for you, _please_? I’ve never been able to before. Because…you know…my life has been so lonely and empty till I met you guys.”

He is so transparent. Usnavi smiles at him, shaking his head. “You really playing that card? Here in front of God and Jesus and all your plants?

“Absolutamente,” Ruben says. “Speaking of cards, did you know the only person I’ve ever got a Valentine’s card from is my ma?“

“Aw, come on, man.”

“One time in middle school we made cards in art class and I knew nobody would want one from me so I gave it to my teacher instead and I saw it in the trash at the end of the day.”

Usnavi pulls his hat down over his face with a groan. “Your life is the saddest cartoon.”

“Besides,” Ruben says, with the air of someone laying down a winning poker hand, “doesn’t _Vanessa_ deserve to be showered in gifts? And obviously I can’t do that for one of you and not the other, so that means you have to be as well. That’s just math.”

“I hate math. And Vanessa hates Valentine’s day.”

“To the surprise of nobody. Think about it, Usnavi,” Ruben wheedles, placing his hands on Usnavi’s hips and doing what Usnavi knows is Ruben’s seductive voice, which is mostly just his normal voice only getting close enough for his beard to tickle against Usnavi’s ear, and yet somehow it still always works. “Your sense of romance, my wallet and reckless disregard of next-day delivery charges, by our powers combined we might be able to melt that icequeen.”

“Alright, alright, you sold me,” Usnavi says, like that wasn’t a foregone conclusion as soon as Vanessa was brought into it. “Stop doin’ all this persuasive whisperin’ in my ear, it makes you sound like Satan.”

“Valentine’s Satan,” Ruben says. “It’s like Santa but sexier. Ho ho ho!”

“ _You_ a ho,” Usnavi mutters, but he’s gotta admit he’s excited to rustle up some romance with a budget behind it for once. “¡Bueno! I’m into it. This is gonna be so fun.”

***

“This is not fun,” Usnavi says, thudding his head into the table. “I got fuckin’ nothin’.

Ruben throws his pen down, defeated. “All I came up with is flowers and that sucks. You’re the one with practice at this, what have you done with her before?”

“Pues,” Usnavi says, gazing up to the ceiling nostalgically, “first year we were together I just got her some candy from the store, because she said she hated Valentines and I wasn’t sure yet if it was like an Usnavi Hates Christmas thing or just another Vanessa Is Too Cool For Love thing and then it was the second one so I meant to do something awesome last year pero I’d just had to replace one of the freezers in the bodega and this was just before she got a pay raise so all we could afford to do was order pizza.” He makes a doubtful face. “Ain’t exactly the stuff of romcoms, but in movies seems like even the broke folks got more than I ever do.”

“It’s not about how much you spend,” Ruben says softly. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Usnavi says, smiling to himself. “We made it muy elegante, set the table up all nice and Vanessa origamied up some old takeout menus into flower shapes and I wore real pants. She wore a tutu.”

“A tutu?”

“Yeah, no se, she said it was Valentinesy.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Ain’t it? And then we spent all night havin’ sex in every room in my old apartment and it was buenísima, but she ain’t here so that leaves us pretty much nothin’ to work with.”

“God. I love how Vanessa she is, but at the same time, why does she have to be so Vanessa? This is impossible.”

“Yeah, welcome to like the last four years of my life, you see why I could never work out how to ask her out?” Usnavi’s face lights up. “Hey, we could—“

Ruben shakes his head. “We are not going to Sonny for relationship advice.”

“Whaaat, ¿por que no?”

“Porque he’s a child. It’s sad.”

“He’s eighteen next month.” 

“Also because he’ll tell Vanessa later and they’ll both laugh at us forever. Mostly that, really.”

“Tch. Yeah, you got me there. We do need help though.” Usnavi interlinks his fingers and pushes them out in front of him so all his knuckles crack. “And I know just who to ask.”

***

**benny:**

\- way to rub it in that im alone this valentines

**usnavi:**

\- lo siento  
\- ¡¡OYE!! DO YOU WANT ME TO FIND YOU SOMEONE TO DATE :D :D :D  
\- i am el mejor matchmaker of all time

**benny:  
** \- no

**usnavi** :  
\- boooooo  
\- check it ruben, chaboy over here w not just one but two fine honeys and benny still thinks hes too good for my romantical skills

**ruben:  
** \- im a fine honey? :D

**usnavi:  
** \- formuladas por los mejores abejas en el mundo, lindo <3

**benny:  
** \- yo dont be flirtin in spanish on a groupchat, wheres your damn manners  
\- and bro you aint got no skills still comin to me for advice about your girl after 3 years even when there’s two of you

**ruben:  
** \- it takes all both of us to be a nearly-functional boyfriend for vanessa  
\- help us benny, we’re pathetic

**benny:  
** \- idk man  
\- i dont think any of the shit i did w nina is vs style and any other girl all i gotta do is wear a tanktop n smile at them

**usnavi:  
** \- uggghhhhh stfu

**ruben:  
** \- no he’s got a point

**benny:  
** \- thx bro

**ruben:  
** \- but i think all four of our arms together wouldn’t even match up to one of yours so that probably won’t work for us

**benny:  
** \- whos fault is that  
\- look yall know i love v but i got no idea what shes into, we aint exactly besties

**usnavi:  
** \- >:( youd better not be, youre mine  
\- i mean she’s mine  
\- i mean carry on

**ruben:  
** \- get a grip, usnavi

**benny:  
** \- cant go wrong gettin her a new dress or whatever  
\- then she can get all dressed up even if u aint goin anywhere  
\- and chicks dig it when you know what size they wear cus it shows you remember shit about her

“He’s very heterosexual, isn’t he?” Ruben says, politely.

“Yeah, so much for Benny knowin’ all the tricks,” Usnavi says, disappointed. “Maybe it ain’t a bad idea though? She does like dressin’ up just for fun.”

“I’ve seen her put on heels with pajamas just to drink wine before,” Ruben acquiesces. “It’s more than what we came up with, anyway, maybe if we find the _perfect_ dress…”

***

**February 2nd.**

Vanessa gives him a suspicious look. “Why are you askin’ me about fashion all of a sudden?”

“Because it’s important to you,” Ruben says, readjusting his laptop screen so the glare from the overhead light isn’t obscuring her so much: it’s only two in the afternoon, but it’s storming out, almost as dark as night.

“That’s very sweet. I call bullshit.”

Ruben frowns. “I care about the stuff you care about.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, attentive boyfriend blah blah blah, but I still call bullshit, I think you got other reasons.”

“I…want to know about cool stuff so that I can be more in touch with my younger students?” Ruben improvises, hoping his grimace comes off as embarrassment rather than bad lying.

“Nooo,” Vanessa says. “No, baby, don’t do it, I love you too much to let you go down this path again. ¿Te acuerdas the emoji thing?”

“The emoji thing could have been avoided if I was _educated_ before it happened,” Ruben says, blushing. “And if you didn’t send me so many eggplants while I’m at work. That was on you. Por favor, just tell me what’s cool, Vanessa!

_“_ Fine,” she says. “Aquí, I’ll send you some things from Paris last month, they had some pretty dope shit goin’ down the runway this year.”

A couple images pop up on Ruben’s phone. He looks at them, then tries turning his phone sideways to see if that makes what he’s seeing make any more sense. It doesn’t. “And…you’d _wear_ this stuff? Like, outside in public with people looking at you?”

“Obviamente no. Haute couture ain’t for wearing to the fuckin’ store, it’s an artistic statement.”

“If it’s art why not just draw a picture instead? Isn’t fashion supposed to be about stuff you can actually use as clothes?.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “You’re such a _scientist_. Why don’t musicians just write books?”

“I don’t know the answer to that.”

“It’s…I dunno, you’re probably better off askin’ Nina for like, theory and shit, but the shit you use to make a thing is part of the thing, you know? The fact that it’s clothes is important, even if it ain’t practical to wear around or if it’s ugly, because it’s takin’ somethin’ you see and use all the time and making you think about it different.”

“Oh. Hey, that’s actually really interesting.”

“I guess.” She shrugs and scrunches up her nose like being passionate about what she does is embarrassing, and Ruben suddenly feels very guilty for not asking more about it before - art and fashion goes totally over his head, yeah, but he’s pretty sure his own work probably goes over Vanessa’s head and she still encourages him to babble about it. He’ll be better about that next time, when he’s not on such an important mission.

“So what would you wear in public? I mean to a fancy dinner or something, if money wasn’t an issue?”

“Like on a date? Are you sure you’re tryna seem cool and not just tryna pick up one of your students?” Vanessa teases.

_“No._ And that’s not funny.”

“Sorry. I guess I’d usually just wear one of my dresses I already got, but if we’re talkin’ about the real dream, hang on a second…”

Another image comes through text, this time of a significantly more normal-looking dress. Ruben can’t say much about it other than it’s dark red, it’s gorgeous, and it would be even more gorgeous on Vanessa. “Ooh! You’d look so good in that.”

“Yeah, but I look even better in not being homeless and that costs literally two months rent on my studio, so it ain’t happenin’.”

_“What?!_ But it’s just a dress. It doesn’t even have diamonds on it or whatever, what makes it worth that much?”

“That one I ain’t so sure about. Just how things are, I guess. And that ain’t even fuckin’ pennies compared to most of the shit we cover in the magazine. It’s pretty though, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.” Ruben clicks his tongue. That’s so much for a few pieces of fabric sewn together. But Vanessa is worth it. It’s a crazy amount of money though.

Vanessa draws his attention back with a whistle. “Hey, your face is doing a weird thing. Are you up to somethin’?”

“No,” he says hastily. “It’s…I have…food poisoning? Usnavi’s fault.”

“Tell Usnavi if he put food in the fridge as soon as he bought it instead of leavin’ it on the side for hours this kinda thing wouldn’t happen.”

“Will do. Well! It was great catching up but I…am going to. Go. And, uh. Bathroom. Because of…you know, the food poisoning.”

“Please don’t elaborate,” Vanessa says. “Get well soon, honey.”

“Graciasloveyoubye!” Ruben says, and hangs up. “Usnavi! The plan failed!¡Ayudamé!”

Usnavi thuds loudly along the corridor and swings into the room holding himself up on the doorframe one-handed. A distant roll of thunder rumbles just as he does it, and he grins at the timing. “Man, wish that happened _every_ time I came into a room. What up, beautiful?” 

Ruben tells him about the dress and Usnavi nods. Then he tells Usnavi how much the dress costs, and Usnavi lets go of the doorframe in shock, only just righting himself before he hits the floor.

“So that’s a no-go then,” he says, sitting on the bed and taking off his hat to fan himself with. “Oof, I’m sweaty just thinkin’ about wearin’ anythin’ that expensive. What if you get coffee or tacos or superglue all over it?”

“I can afford it,” Ruben says. “But that’s a lot for a dress that she’s not actually gonna wear anywhere specific. And I’m not gonna spend that much on her and not you, which I can afford that too, but are you comfortable with that?”

“Nope, I am not,” Usnavi says firmly. “We could probably both do with loosenin’ up a little on you spendin’ money on us but _that’s_ way too far.”

“You both deserve it. And I want you to have everything you want. It’s only money.”

“Spoke like someone who grew up with enough of it,” Usnavi says, reaching out with his foot to spin Ruben’s desk chair in a circle. “I ain’t know nothin’ ‘bout no nice clothes but I know Vanessa, and if she’s gonna own a dress that expensive she’s gonna wanna buy it off her own money or not at all. The big expensive shit is…it’s something to be hopeful for, ¿ya sabes? Maybe it ain’t realistic, but when you’re broke you gotta dream of when you get lucky enough to win the lotto, or when you get your big break and turn rich, and then you can buy the fancy car and the big house and the designer dresses and it belongs to you. It ain’t borrowed or charity or second-hand. That’s how come Vanessa likes all her clothes and her apartment, it ain’t ‘cause she’s materialistic or even really about what the stuff is, it’s ‘cause it’s _hers._ It wouldn’t be the same if you bought it for her. And it’d make her uncomfortable too.”

“I still don’t think I get it,” Ruben admits quietly. “I’m sorry. I - okay, stop spinning me - I hear what you’re saying and I won’t buy the dress if you don’t think it’ll make her happy but to me it’s not vital money, I can spare it, and I’d rather spend it on you and Vanessa than on myself or just have it sitting around.”

“You ain’t ever gonna get it really,” Usnavi says. “You just can’t, and that’s okay so long as you respect it. It’s cool that this year we can do somethin’ bigger for her than I could before, but it don’t have to be thousands of dollars of big for it to be a good gift. I mean, surely we can find somethin’ kinda like that one but cheaper?”

“Maybe,” Ruben says. He rocks semicircular movements in his chair, thinking hard.“Except I don’t know what it is that makes it good. Is it the color or the skirty part or the straps? Or does it not work at all unless it’s all the exact same?”

“Mierda, no tengo idea. We should probably ask—

“We’re not taking fashion advice from Sonny either.”

“I was gonna say we should ask Dani and Carla.”

“Oh, but…mnnynyrrghhh,” Ruben says. “You know?”

“Aw, come on, I don’t get why you’re so nervous of her, Dani’s a sweetheart.”

That’s easy for Usnavi to say. He thinks everyone’s a sweetheart, and most of them are to him because Usnavi brings that out in people so he’s never got reason to doubt his judgement. “You say that because you’ve known her forever. Dani’s great, but you have to admit she is intimidating when you don’t know her well. She’s like Vanessa but with more hairdressing tools ready at hand, and she’s impervious to sexy distractions.”

Usnavi tips himself upside down off the edge of the bed precariously, pressing both his hands to the floor. “You sayin’ the only reason Vanessa ain’t stabbed you with a pair of hairdressing scissors yet is because you distract her with your dick?”

“I’m saying if we’re looking at my track record, out of the three people I’ve considered close friends in my life, the two of them who did not stab me are also the two who are sexually attracted to me.”

“But correlation ain’t imply causation, my dude.”

This is a proud moment: Ruben taught him that. “Keep talking data interpretation to me, I like it.”

“Somethin’ somethin’ variables and such,” Usnavi says, letting himself slide inelegantly off the bed to kneel on the floor, then pulling Ruben’s chair towards him till he can rest his hands on Ruben’s legs. “Talkin’ ‘bout sexy distractions, I think we earned a break from all this Valentinesing, ¿no?”

***

**February 4th.**

They actually don’t get round to talking to Dani and Carla till a few days later, because Usnavi decides to take the chance to get his hair cut. They’ve had so much shit going on that Vanessa didn’t have a chance to fix him and Ruben up since well before Christmas, and it shows. Ruben shoots an _I told you so_ look at Usnavi when Dani says she’s got a spare seat for a while and could fit him in too, but he looks more comfortable when he awkwardly explains that he can’t let anyone except Vanessa cut his hair and Dani just makes a humming, understanding sound and immediately gets the previous conversation back on track by saying “do not buy Vanessa clothes. She’s impossible to buy clothes for, and you two will definitivamente get it wrong. Sin ofender.”

“None taken,” they say in unison.

“Thats why we came to you, though,” Ruben says. “Dani, you know Vanessa really well, and Carla, you buy things for your girlfriend, so you know how to shop for other women. We just need somewhere to start.”

“Luci ain’t into fashion. She likes men’s flannel shirts and big sweaters,” Carla says.

“Alright, how about this instead: you do all the Vanessa stuff, and I’ll get presents for _your_ girlfriend because she sounds easy,” Ruben suggests.

“Easy to buy clothes for,” Usnavi clarifies, even though the accidental innuendo doesn’t seem to have registered with Carla. “Ruben’s good at sweaters.”

“That one does look soft,” Carla says, leaning over to rub the material of Ruben’s sleeve between her thumb and index finger. To Usnavi’s surprise, Ruben doesn’t flinch away, and barely even seems to notice. “Ooh! I was right. Where did you get this?”

“My ma bought it for me,” Ruben says, and both the ladies _awww_ at him. He turns pink and says, “okay so maybe a dress or whatever isn’t a good idea but I was also thinking maybe if we, uh, got her some, y’know. Like. Valentine’s clothing. Um. Of an intimate nature.”

He clears his throat and pretends to be very interested in the construction of the arm of the salon chair he’s sitting in. It’s so weird that Ruben’s the kinkiest person Usnavi knows and still turns into Hugh fuckin’ Grant tryna talk about some of the most vanilla things.

“He means underwear,” Usnavi says.

“You both mean lingerie,” Dani corrects with an eyeroll. “ _Men_.”

“I did mean that, I just didn’t know how to pronounce it,” Usnavi whispers to Ruben.

“Me neither,” Ruben whispers back, and then looks helplessly between Dani and Carla. “So if we got her some…of that, is that anything?”

“Lingerie is more of a present for the person who’s buying it, because they’re the ones who get to look at it,” Dani says. “If you really want to make her happy, you need to do something for _her_. Why don’t you fly out to California and surprise her?”

“Ohhh, that would be _so_ romantic,” Carla sighs.

“We can’t,” Usnavi says.

“Why not? You said you could afford it.” Dani smirks at Ruben. “Or your rich boyfriend could afford it. Feel free to buy me a plane ticket too, if the mood takes you.”

“You can take my ticket, I don’t do planes,” Ruben says. He leans forward in his chair like he’s about to stand up and bolt away from the conversation. “It’s a Thing.”

“Ah. Lo siento,” Dani murmurs, catching on fast.

“Oh, they can give you sleepin’ pills or whatever for that,” Carla says breezily. “So long as you drink some coffee or whatever to snap you out of it once you land you’ll be fine.”

“I, uh…”

“Carla,” Dani says, warningly. “Let him be.”

“But Dani, you know how my mom’s scared of flyin’ too, and that always works fine for her, and Vanessa would really like to see them both again, right?”

“I can’t get on a plane because of my PTSD,” Ruben explains in a very quiet voice.Usnavi motions for Carla to pause cutting his hair so he can lean over and take Ruben’s hand. “Flying reminds me of what happened to me, because the guy kidnapped me off a plane when he did it. Even dropping Vanessa at the airport was too much for me."

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Carla says. “Sorry, Ruben. I guess there’s a whole lot of stuff you can’t do that I don’t even have to think about, huh?”

“Carla!” Dani snaps, exasperated. “Dios mio, _think_ before you speak!”

Carla looks offended. “¿Qué? I just mean, you _don’t_ think about how stuff that’s easy for you is really hard for some people. Like haircuts, we do ‘em all the time and I always think about it like a nice thing to get, I ain’t never really thought much about what happens if someone’s scared of it.”

“I don’t think Ruben wants to talk about this in public.”

“Actually, it sometimes helps to not make a big deal of it,” Ruben says, holding Usnavi’s hand just this side of too tight. “There _is_ a lot of stuff I can’t do, and things like flying are way too big for me yet, but I have to find ways around problems whenever I can otherwise I’d never be able to do anything. It’s like…its like trying to get somewhere when a subway line’s closed. If you’re already at the station it’s chaos, but if everyone knows in advance you can plan ahead better and it might take longer but you get where you’re going.”

“Well, it don’t sound so sad thinking about it that way,” Carla says, nodding. “I like that.”

Ruben gives her a small smile. “Yeah, I like it too.”

Look at his boy navigating difficult topics like it ain’t even a thing. Usnavi scrunches his toes in his sneakers happily, his mind suddenly ticking away like a stopwatch. Usnavi’s a great matchmaker for friends too. He’s thinking about Ruben saying that Carla hugged him once. Ruben likes uncomplicated people who don’t play mind games, and Ruben likes people who are kind, and who don’t make him feel self-conscious about being weird. Carla likes almost everyone, but Usnavi knows she especially likes people who will explain things she doesn’t get without treating her like she’s dumb, same as him, and she never notices when people are weird, and she likes gossip and terrible reality TV and hugs, which are all things Ruben likes when he’s enjoying them with the right people.  Save this as an interesting mental memo to work through later.

Dani pats the arm of Ruben’s chair as an alternative to patting his shoulder. “Well, chiquito, if you need us to change some things around so you can get a haircut while Vanessa’s gone we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Ruben looks surprised.“Thanks, Dani.”

“Because you are in desperate need of one,” she continues. Ruben makes a hilariously startled face that Usnavi has to laugh at.

“We should probably focus on the Valentine’s thing,” Ruben says, letting go Usnavi’s hand to flip him off, even though Carla and Dani are also giggling.

“Actually,” Usnavi says, because when Usnavi’s brain starts moving it moves in a lot of different directions at once very fast, and he’s thinking about dates and Facetime and clothes and getting where you want to even if you arrive there late, “I think I just had an idea.”

***

**February 7th.**

**nina:**  
****

\- Explain again what you’re asking me to do in all this?

**usnavi:  
** \- we need you to make sure vanessa don’t make any other plans for the 14th  and to set it up so we can surprise her as soon as she’s back from work  
\- we ain’t come up with exact details there yet but it won’t be more than like ten minutes of your time, i aint askin you to throw her a parade or nothin

**nina  
** \- And you just assume I’m going to be alone on Valentine’s for this to be plausible?

**usnavi:  
** \- well you are aint you

**nina:  
** \- I mean...yes, I am, but you didn't know that.

**usnavi:**  
\- no i knew that

**ruben:  
** \- nina please don't listen to usnavi. as a fellow academic and former lonely valentines single and a person who loves vanessa very much we should have each others backs

**nina:  
** \- Are these my defining features to you guys?  
\- I do other things, you know.  
\- I’m part of a lot of organisations, I’m an activist. I have hobbies.  
\- I like to go swimming in my free time, nobody ever asks me about that.

**usnavi:  
** \- whats to ask  
\- hows the water today nina? wet again? interesante

**nina:  
** \- :|  
- You’re such a little shit, how did you ever get two people to date you?

**usnavi:  
** \- :D

**ruben:  
** \- i apologise for my associates unprofessionalism. of course we know you’re a well rounded person with hobbies and interests, just like the rest of us  
\- for example, i like to bake, and i’m making cookies to send vanessa  
\- they’re going to be shaped like hearts with little Vs on  
\- might have some spare cookie dough. i was thinking star shapes. and what letter to put on them, i don’t know, maybe an N?

**nina:  
** \- …Keep talking.

**ruben:  
** \- also comes with free access to any of my subscription-only academic database accounts, all you have to do is ask  
\- unlimited JSTOR. think of the bibliographies

**nina:  
** \- Ay, you really know the way to a girls heart. ¡Tenemos un trato! 

**ruben:**  
\- you're an angel, nina rosario

**nina:**  
\- Pleasure doing business with you, Ruben.  
\- Usnavi, you can go to hell.

**usnavi:  
** \- already there  
\- valentines satans  
\- ho ho ho

***

**February 14th.**

“Bring my laptop back once you’re done,” Nina says to Vanessa when she gets in from work.

“The fuck you talkin’ about?” Vanessa says, but Nina just points at Vanessa’s door then goes back into her own room. 

“She’s losin’ her mind,” Vanessa mutters to herself, opening the door, then pausing at the faint sound of an acoustic guitar playing from the open laptop that’s sat facing away from her beside a large brown box on her bed. 

“What—“ she starts, going to turn the laptop to face her and then making a squeakily startled noise.

“Surprise,” Ruben says. He grins up at her from Facetime window and waves, a dorky finger-wiggling little gesture.Usnavi has his hands full of his guitar, but he does a similar movement with his eyebrows. They’re both dressed up nice. Like, real nice. Usnavi’s shirt fits properly. Ruben’s tie isn’t askew. They both have all their buttons done up. Vanessa’s pretty sure this is one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.

“What,” she says, again. “Why?”

”Happy Valentine’s day,” Usnavi says, resolving the last chord and setting the guitar aside.

“Was that one of yours?” she asks, for lack of anything else coherent to say. “I ain’t heard it before.”

“Somethin’ I’m workin’ on. I don’t know what it is yet but I thought you might like it.”

“It’s real pretty.”

“Just like you.” He smiles at her.

“Gross,” she says, and drums her hands on the box, bewildered and happy and her heart all full and lifting like a balloon. Wait, fuck, is she enjoying a romantic Valentine’s Day surprise right now? Who the fuck said _that_ was okay? “Is this for me? I didn’t get you anything.”

“We didn’t expect you to,” Ruben says. “Open it.”

Vanessa does, dreading having to react to something hideous like a big teddy bear holding a heart or a huge bouquet of roses, but it’s just a small pile of cheap, cute stuff: some nice pens, a big packet of M&Ms, some earplugs (“to stop you goin’ crazy while you gotta live with other humans,” Usnavi explains), a tupperware box full of homemade cookies. She takes a bite of one - _god_ , it’s good - and then sets them aside and pulls out a hoodie, old and grey and with holes chewed out of the cuffs so that whoever’s wearing it can poke their thumbs through. Before she even picks it up she knows it’s the one that says Uptown’s Finest in graffiti-font on the front, one of Usnavi’s favorites, and she can smell coffee and cheap deodorant like Usnavi’s right there, and there’s still that cinnamon-cookie scent that’s unbearably Ruben.

“Lame,” she mutters tearfully, clutching tight onto the hoodie with both her hands, and it takes her a minute to force herself to put it down and go back to rummaging through her gifts. There’s more clothes, unfamiliar this time, something thick and warm-feeling in her favourite shade of teal. “You got me pajamas?”

“Yup,” Ruben says. “You’re probably getting really good sleep for once without us waking you up all night, so you should make the most of it. You can wear them tonight and we’ll cuddle with you in bed even though you’re a computer.”

_“_ You’re a computer,” Vanessa retorts half-heartedly. She runs her fingertips over the fabric and instantly pictures the boys in the store together, touching every pair of pajamas till they find the nicest material and probably getting weird looks from everyone else there. “Most people get their girlfriends sexy lingerie.”

“We did buy lingerie,” Ruben says. “But we’ve been informed that it’s a gift for the person who gets to look at it, not the one wearing it.”

“Wh-oh, I _see_. Niiice. Both of you, or do I have to guess who’s wearin’ it?”

Usnavi winks at her. “That’s a surprise for _after_ dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“We’re taking you out,” Ruben says. “Well, sort of. We couldn’t actually be there but I made you reservations, and we're going out to eat somewhere here at the same time, so it's as close as we're gonna get for a while. As long as you don’t feel weird about taking a laptop out to dinner but Usnavi says you wouldn’t."

“No, I got no problem with that,” Vanessa says, still feeling faintly confused. They did all this for her? This is some romance movie bullshit and they did it for Vanessa who doesn't even like this stupid fake holiday? “Is it somewhere fancy? I can’t afford nothin’ too expensive.”

“Yes, it’s fancy, and I’m paying,” Ruben says. “I arranged it all with the restaurant. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ruben, you can’t—“

“Don’t _worry_ about it,” he repeats. “I’ve already had to have this conversation with Usnavi like six times, this is my first Valentine’s in a relationship, callate and let me buy you stuff.”

“Look, querida, we’re all dressed up just for you,” Usnavi says, “and we’re  super-late here because timezones and I _will_ have to eat Ruben if we argue about this too long, so just roll with it and come on a goddamn date with us.”

“Fine, but only to save Ruben’s life,” she says, smiling reluctantly as she reaches into the box again and finds a card, with just a simple outlined heart drawn on the front in glitter. A piece of paper falls out when she opens it. “I hope this ain’t a sappy love poem.”

“Not exactly,” Usnavi says, and she can tell he’s laughing at her. She unfolds the poem. It’s…a screenshot of an email? She reads it, then reads it again. 

It’s a message sent to Ruben’s work email, and it reads, _Dr Marcado, just confirming that your request for vacation time from March 19th to March 23rd 2018 has been accepted and put into the system—_

“Oh,” she whispers.

“I was gonna do it on your birthday,” he says, apologetic, “but the 23rd is when spring break starts at college, and since we’ll be roadtripping down this gives us more time to stay in California instead of having to drive off again the next day.”

“You’re coming to see me?” she says, shellshocked.“Next month! And you’re staying for a _week_? And I get to see you both?! _Yes_!”

Fuck trying to keep her cool, she starts giggling, which sets Usnavi off and Ruben too so now they’re just three people laughing at each other over Facetime and it’s inane and awesome and Vanessa is so in love that it shouldn’t even be allowed. Love is so dumb, and it’s the best thing ever. She's going to see them again! Okay, a whole month away, but having an actual date for it makes it seem much, much closer, and all she wants right now is to kiss their stupid faces.

“So did we do okay?” Ruben asks, wiggling excitedly in his seat.

“Valentine’s is a scam and you’re both suckers for buyin’ into it,” Vanessa says, like she’s not still breathless with astonished delight, then adds in a begrudging a voice as she can, “but I guess the pajamas are cute.”

Usnavi and Ruben high-five. She shakes her head at them and idly tips the box, noticing one more thing in there: a small-ish rectangular box wrapped in brown parcel paper. “Hold up, I still got somethin’ to open here.”

“Uh, actually, that one’s for later too,” Ruben says, and he gives her an embarrassed little smirk. “In case you’re missing more than just the dinner dates.”

She bursts out laughing again. “Oh, man. Now _that’s_ my kinda romance, Marcado.”

“Ayyy, maybe we shoulda sent earplugs for the rest of her housemates instead,” Usnavi says to Ruben.

“Bring some down when you roadtrip here,” Vanessa says. “I got a couple missed Valentine’s gifts I’m gonna have to think of, and it’s gonna have to get pretty damn noisy if this is what I’m competin’ with.”

“Romance ain’t a competition, Vanessa,” Usnavi reproaches.

“Yeah? We’ll see about that in March when I _win_ ,” she says.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i've kinda had to give up on the multimedia element of this fic because i'm just so fuckin' busy with university and all right now that it'd take me even longer than it already does to update. sorry! if there's something that calls for it in future chapters i'll maybe bring it back if i have time.]

Vanessa ain’t lazy, but she’s got through a lot of her life on a _enough, but not extra_ policy for most things. Why do more than required when you ain’t guaranteed to get a return on it? Sure, she’s worked her ass off on more than her share of ten-hour shifts and early mornings, but there’s a difference between working hard and trying hard. Working hard is hours, time, energy. Trying hard is risky: it means caring means letting people know you _want_ something _,_ and the problem with trying is, sometimes you don’t get anything out of it.

For all that she wears fearlessness like a jacket, Vanessa’s historically always leaned towards the easy. Moving downtown was nothing: she was so done with her mom by the time it came around that it was barely a choice. What’s difficult about leaving when the only thing on the line is the thing slowly sucking the life out of you?

Usnavi, though. Now, he was a risk. Usnavi, who she’d known longer than she can remember, this big-hearted boy who could have found someone so much easier to love but went for Vanessa without looking back. Usnavi meant admitting to herself that she couldn’t keep trying to half-ass what they had together. It meant admitting _I want him, and I might not get what I want in the end but I’m still going to give it my best shot_. Ruben was risky: someone that in the scheme of things Vanessa had barely known any time but she resonated to something defensive and proud and sweet she saw in him, so she let him in on her love and her Usnavi and all the crossover area where those two things are the same.

They were worth it, even if it means - sneaky, earnest sons of bitches that they are - they tricked her into the idea that trying ain’t so bad, and now here she is actually giving a damn about her job.At school she learned just enough to keep the teachers off her back and so what if she didn’t do amazing? Here she’s finding out that even if someone _sounds_ like a pretentious jackass, sometimes it’s because they do know more than her and she can learn from them. Here, she’s listening and even better, she’s doing: piecing together skills by guesswork and getting hands on and taking a whole bunch of bad photos to test the settings on her borrowed DSLR, her brain constantly flickering with tiny sparks that might turn into inspiration some day, when she figures out how to harness them.

So maybe trying pays off, or at least that’s what she's starting to think right up till her twenty-minute Friday mentoring session where she shows some of her favorite shots from a day wandering around catching some street fashion to Flora who nods, and then says “is this what you plan to put in your portfolio?” in a tone that strongly implies the right answer is no. 

”I was just hoping for advice, really,” Vanessa says, even though the more accurate answer was _yeah, probably._ She’d thought they were pretty good work. It's a real bucket of water on the bonfire to hear she might as well have not bothered.

“You have to look at every picture you’re taking like it’s competition. Ask yourself, why would a client choose these over any number of amateur Instagrammers with good equipment? Look.” Flora turns her screen so Vanessa can watch her click through photo after photo. “Cliché. Cliché. There’s nothing wrong with them technically - though you really should consider investing in a tripod - but they are _boring_. I saw your application statement, I’ve spoken to you enough to know you have plenty of personality. Why am I not seeing that in your work?”

The fuck’s she meant to answer that?

“Do you understand what I’m asking from you?” Flora asks when Vanessa doesn’t respond straight away, in a tone that's either condescending or kind. Doesn’t matter which, Vanessa don’t like either.

“Yes,” Vanessa says, with a professional smile. “Yes, of course, absolutely. I’ll work on that. Thanks for the feedback.”

She has no idea what Flora is asking her to do.

***

Vanessa ain’t a kid, she can take constructive criticism, especially when it’s just for some dumb job that she don’t even care about all that much. Ain’t like she came into it with any illusions about being the next Ansel Adams. Still, the meeting with Flora weighs all day somewhere in Vanessa’s chest with a heavy familiarity that she deals with like the mature, adjusted woman she is: repressing it with a slowly bubbling resentment until she can go somewhere to complain without getting fired.

“How was work?” Aubrey asks when Vanessa gets home. Vanessa flings her bag across the room and says “ugh.”

“That good?”

“You wouldn’t believe—” Vanessa starts, then gets interrupted by her phone ringing. “Ugghgh,” she says again, with extra flavor. “Sorry, I should take this. Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, V. How’s California?”

“Californian. How’s New York?”

“New Yorky.”

“Cool.” _Come on, Vanessa, make an effort._ It’s nice that Mom even bothered to call. It’s been a couple weeks since they talked, and honestly Vanessa had kind of forgotten she existed. “So what are you up to? You still at the new job?”

“Yeah. I’m already sick of the office though. Everyone I work with is whiny PTA moms, they spend all day trying to one-up each other on who’s shithead kids are the most successful.”

“Ew,” Vanessa says. She’s always hated that kind of mom. The overmakeupped I’ll Speak To Your Manager types, sneering at Vanessa whenever she passed them at the school gates like they ain’t got nothing better to do than be so tragically overinvolved in their kids lives that they’re picking them up well into high school. Like, grow up, Vanessa’s been walking herself home since she was seven. _“_ Do they all talk about how they’re readin’ Fifty Shades of Grey with their book club ‘cause their husbands can’t satisfy them?”

“They’re all reading Fifty Shades at their _desks.”_

_“Ew,_ no. Nightmare scenario.”

“No wonder they all go for liquid lunches every day, it’s probably the only way they stay sane. God knows I’m always losing my mind by midday.”

“Mom.” Vanessa knows where this goes - _it’s boring, I need some fun in my life, I’m just going out for one drink, oh look I’m unemployed again Vanessa I just need enough to keep the lights on it wasn’t my fault —_

“Lighten up, I’m just kidding,” Mom says. “They invited me for cocktails last Friday and I turned them down, actually.”

Vanessa wonders if she should say _well done_ or _I’m proud of you_. She just says “cool” again. There’s no point having strong feelings about it, she’s learned that much.

After a silence two seconds too long to be comfortable, Mom asks, “so hows your job going anyway?” and because Vanessa had come home with a rant all wound up to go she says “my boss told me my pictures are boring and cliche today” without really thinking about it.

“What? She said that?”

“Seriously, I pack up my life to literally the other side of the country just so a some snooty old hag can tell me I take bad pictures, the fuck. _She’s_ a cliche. Like, girl, we all seen Devil Wears Prada and you ain’t no Meryl Streep —”

“Well,” Mom says, “ _are_ they cliche?”

“¿Qué?”

“The stuff you’re showing her, is it cliche?”

“It—I don’t know,” Vanessa says, thrown. “Maybe? Kinda? But —”

“I mean, that’s her job, ain’t it? To tell you when you’re not doin’ enough to—”

“But I’m sayin’ she didn’t even tell me _how_ to—”

“She does run a whole company,” Mom says, in her Reasonable Voice. “Can’t expect her to hold your hand the whole way, right?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa says. Don't engage. Never fuckin’ engage. “I guess. I have to go now.”

“Oh, don’t take it like that, I just meant—”

“I’m not taking it like nothin’, I just really do have to go.”

“Okay then,” her mom says doubtfully, and then adds, “love you, kiddo.”

“Bye, Mom,” Vanessa says.

***

Vanessa being three hours earlier means she’s actually a lot more on schedule with the boys than ever, at least half the evenings out of the week on the receiving end of a call when one of them is sleepless. She’s listlessly flopping her arm around with the camera, taking a bunch of random unframed shots of her bedroom window or the fridge or the front door hoping she’ll capture some instinctive photography magic hidden inside her when a messy-haired midnight Usnavi Facetimes her.

“A thing happened!” he says, no preamble. The laptop is jiggling. Leg bounce.

“ _Another_ thing? You okay? Ruben okay?”

“Ohh, we are super okay.”He pulls his tank top up over his face to hide everything but his eyes, which are crinkly and mischievous and nervous. “Sooo. Me and Ruben…had seeex today?” His pitch rises to cartoonish levels at the end like it’s a question.

“…Congrats?”

“I mean. Y’know.” He does a confusing little mime which Vanessa's got no idea what it's supposed to represent. “ _Ruben_ had sex with _me_ today. Like, with his dick, and my—yeah.”

“¡No me diga!”

“¡Te fuckin’ digo!”

She wasn’t expecting that. “Holy shit, tell me _everything!_ How did it happen? _”_

“I dunno. I guess I’ve been thinkin’ about it sometimes but obviously life got in the way. Then today he came home and we were just talkin’ and foolin’ around a bit in the kitchen and…I just looked at him and I knew like, yeah, I’m ready.”

“Were you nervous?”

_“_ Un poco. But not too much. It’s _Ruben_ , you know?"

Vanessa knows: Ruben, the most patient man in history, so cautious about everything that it would be infuriating if it weren’t always so directed towards their happiness. It's very hard not to feel in safe hands with him.

“And,” Usnavi breaks off to giggle in his squeaky way, pink-cheeked, “and it was good. It was…nngh. It was _very_ good.“ 

“Damn. That’s wild.” It is wild. Her Usnavi, gettin’ railed. Crazy weekend. She kinda wants to applaud or laugh really hard or make Usnavi wake Ruben up so she can get his side of the gossip too, with an undercurrent of the same FOMO disappointment she gets on Facebook when someone uploads pictures from the one night she didn’t go out. How did she not know that Usnavi had been building up to this? And on top of all that a very vivid mental image is distracting her just enough that she can’t quite figure out how she feels. Jealously horny, probably. “And you didn’t even film it for me. Booo.”

“Next time,” he says, laughing. “I was kinda distracted this one. It was…yeah. I don’t feel as different as I expected? But then I also feel _way_ more different than I expected? I dunno, it’s all a lot of it, and I was just watchin’ him sleep and he looks all peaceful and my heart got too full so I had to come call you and see your face.”

Aw. Well. It’s hard to maintain any jealousy when he says things like that. “That’s so cute.”

“Also, I can’t sleep because my ass feels janky now,” he adds. 

“Aaand you ruined it.”

“Like, I showered but I don’t think I’ll ever not be lubey again. It’s become a part of me forever, Vanessa. All eternity as a human slip-n-slide.”

“Jeez. Don’t sit on my couch.”

Usnavi gives her a big dumb gorgeous grin and says “so! That’s all the Important Usnavi’s Butt Updates out the way, how’s things with you?”

“Yeah, it’s all good.”

“Oh no, what happened?”  
  
“What? Nothin’.”

“Querida, you think I ain’t know your Somethin’ Wrong voice by now? You get all head register.”

“Do I?”  He's too fuckin' quick. She catches sight of the DSLR on her bed out the corner of her eye and sighs. “I guess I’m kinda on a block with my portfolio.”

“You still hung up on that shit your boss was sayin’?”

“Hard not to be hung up when she says the same thing every damn time I show her my stuff. I don’t even know what I’m doin’ wrong. Maybe I just ain’t good at this.”

“No!” Usnavi says, fiercely. “You are a great photographer, you shut your dang mouth.”

“Pft. You like me too much for your opinion to mean anythin’.”

“Hurtful. Anyway, got the job in the first place, didn’t you? And she ain’t said you’re _bad_ , you just need more time to figure out your groove. Like, I bet fuckin’ Van Gogh drew stick figures for ages before he got on the sunflower thing. You gotta grow into art.”

“I guess.” Vanessa points at him. “But _you_ picked up a guitar like two weeks ago and now you’re writin’ your own songs. How come you can already make it sound like _yours_? How do you do that?”

“I played guitar and piano all through high school, I ain’t that new at writin’ songs,” Usnavi points out. “But I don’t know how much of it’s actually original so much as it is I’m just mixin’ up a bunch of other people’s stuff. If you make it sound like enough different songs all at once it’s kinda like makin’ a new one.”

“I don’t know how that’d work with a picture. How d’you think I make my photos look different than other people’s?”

“Iuno.” Usnavi frowns, obviously racking his brain for a good answer. “Turn the camera sideways?”

***

She turns the camera sideways. Now all her photos suck in portrait. She misses Usnavi.

***

Vanessa takes pictures: at work, when she’s not relegated to shifting lights around or doing glorified runner duties for the more demanding models. Fashion photography, taking pictures of someone else’s art. She doesn’t know how to make a random designer’s clothes on a random woman say _Vanessa García._

Vanessa takes pictures: portfolio work on her borrowed DSLR, furious full-day excursions exploring hidden corners of the suburbs and the city, in stolen seconds to herself on the commute and on her lunchbreak. The vibration of life and adventure and newness goes still and flat every time she tries to pin it down.

The conversations with Flora end the same way: it’s trite. It’s cliché. It isn’t Vanessa.

“But she ain’t tellin’ me how to _do_ nothin’ about it, so like, how’s your mentorin’?” she complains.

“Just ask around till you find out what kinda style she’s into then copy that,” Violet suggests.

“That won’t help, you need to find a niche. What are you passionate about?” Aubrey asks.

“Nothin’, I don’t think? There’s stuff I get happy about but nothin’ that I’m like, this is My Thing.”

“Passion isn’t always about the thing that makes you happy,” Nina says. “Sometimes it’s about the thing that makes you want to smash your head into a wall and scream but for some reason you keep going back to it anyway.”

Violet tuts. “New rule, Nina isn’t allowed to interject until she gets a healthy work-life balance.”

“Seconded,” Vanessa says, but she’ll say this much: Nina’s never been lacking in passion for what she does. Nina’s never not had ambitions and ideas and causes and beliefs. Meanwhile Vanessa pretty much just fell into working for the magazine by luck and a good connection through a couple salon customers. She’s here by accident. Ain’t she always?

 

“Nina says I gotta find a thing to care enough about I wanna hit my head on a wall,” Vanessa says to Ruben, because fuck yeah she's complaining to anyone who'll listen, and what? “Which is easy for someone who gets like that whenever she thinks for more than five minutes at a time about literally anythin’, but it don’t teach me how to do it.”

“She’s not wrong, though,” Ruben says. “People think passion’s just being really into a thing. Which it is, kind of. But really it’s just the feeling that makes you keep going through the bits where a project gets tedious or when it would be so much easier to do something else.”

“Eh, not my scene. Always been a big fan of bouncin’ as soon as things get difficult.” 

She’s mostly kidding, but Ruben’s voice is purely offended when he says “Vanessa, that’s the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard and I used to hang out with Jason Cole on the daily. You’ve stuck by me. You’ve stuck by Usnavi. That’s not always been a walk in the park. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself.”

“Whatever. Can’t make a living out of pictures of you and Usnavi so y'all are useless.” Vanessa puts her feet up on the coffee table, poking gently at the handle of her empty coffee mug with her toes so that it shifts round in a jerky circle. “It's easy for people like you and Nina. You basically came out of the womb in a labcoat, you've always known what you’re doin’.”

“I don’t always,” Ruben says. “The lab keeps calling me about Blackout. I haven’t answered them yet. I’ve been ignoring them for a month.”

“Oh.” Why would he ignore them? Blackout’s a fuckin’ shoe-in to a bigger paycheck than Vanessa and Usnavi could ever bother to dream of. And what hope’s she got about finding her thing if someone like _Ruben_ ain’t even on steady ground? “How come you ain't called them?”

It takes him so long to answer she checks to make sure the call’s not cut off, but finally he says, very quietly, “I’m—m-my, my brain doesn’t work as well as it used to. And it’s — y’know what, never mind, we’ll talk about my shit some other time. My point is, I haven’t called them back. But nobody made Blackout for me when I needed it. Nobody else is gonna make it if I don’t do it. If there’s something in your life you’ve needed, chances are other people have been in the same position, and if you can find a way to use your skills to provide it, that’s where you find your thing.” Ruben’s voice goes serious, intense. “Vanessa, don’t think about what sells or what your boss wants. What is it that you _need_?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” she says.

***

Vanessa takes pictures: quick, thoughtless phone selfies in the bad lighting of clubs laughing with coworkers, snapchats of Violet helping Aubrey home after a bar complaining about how much of a lightweight she is, videos to send to the boys of Nina doing her impression of Usnavi while the camera shakes with Vanessa’s laughter. Worth recording, worth remembering, all pieces of Vanessa in life as it is now. Never seems to work when she’s using the good camera, when she tries to take a second to frame a shot proper.

Vanessa gets pictures from back home all the time.

Ruben’s are always carefully taken, neat and restrained the same as when he draws his steady-handed little cartoons and diagrams, parallel lines she can tell he used the grid overlay on his phone to get just right. Ruben sends her pictures, of Usnavi chaotic in the middle of Ruben’s tidy composition with spaghetti sauce dropped all down his shirt, of the sunrises that she was never awake early enough to see even when she was back in NYC, of trinkets and junk in store windows that remind him of her. Ruben likes taking pictures of inanimate objects grouped in threes and saying “look, it’s us!”. Somehow Vanessa can instantly pick out which one of those tiny cactuses he’s mentally designated as Usnavi, Vanessa, Ruben, which of their respective personalities he’s somehow ascribed to a trio of cupcakes or garbage cans.

Usnavi’s pictures are frequently incomprehensible. He never bothers to check if his finger’s obscuring the lens or if anything’s in focus or if he’s using the wrong camera on his iPhone: he sends them all anyway and Vanessa likes seeing the mistakes as much as the ones that work. Usnavi sends her videos, of Ruben humming to himself while he doesn’t know he’s being filmed, of Usnavi in an empty subway car with the phone propped up while he jumps over seats and swings on the poles singing showtunes, of his hands and his body and the blur of movement when he’s naked and turned on and missing her, _something to keep you goin’ til we come visit, querida._

Dani mostly sends videos so that she can talk all over them. Carla’s pictures are always near-cartoonish under the layers of filters and emojis. Sonny needs to learn any kind of filming technique that isn’t “dramatically zooming in and out very fast” but when she tells him that he just sends her more of them till she has to mute notifications from him.

They all share pictures of the good things and the pretty things and that’s great but you can’t step into someone else’s perception without learning something about them, and there’s so many things left unrecorded that she knows must be happening. There’s Usnavi averting his eyes when he walks past the old bodega, there’s Ruben holding a ringing phone he can’t bring himself to answer. There’s a Vanessa under the visual image of Vanessa who isn’t pretty in the slightest. There’s a Vanessa who was built in arguments and forgotten birthdays and resignation, who learned to never need a home and to never need a family. It’s risky to admit you want things at all. It’s straight up crazy to admit you want something you know is impossible. She’s never even tried to take pictures of what that feeling looks like.

***

It's a Friday evening where the early suggestions of Spring hang warm in the air and Vanessa’s sitting at the top of the stairs outside their two-storey apartment building when Nina drops beside her and says “Aubrey said you were moping out here.”

“Ain’t mopin’,” Vanessa objects. “I’m takin’ sunset pictures. Leanin' in, since I'm already so cliche."

She holds the camera up and clicks it somewhere in the direction of the sunset without looking. Their out-of-town suburb is quiet at night, and even though she ain’t trapped here like she used to feel in the barrio, she still feels like there’s something that she wants, a weird little ache when she thinks about how loud Manhattan would be right now, when she thinks about how much higher the staircases climb into the sky, how different the air feels.

Nina nods. “Take it the boss meeting went same as always?”

“Nah,” Vanessa says. “Actually, she told me I have a great eye for color today, and that she thinks I’m improvin’.”

“Oh. Gotta say, you don’t really look like someone who got positive feedback.”

She doesn’t really feel like someone who did.  Flora might be happier with her work, but Vanessa isn't: she sees now, that it isn't really her. Not if she's being honest with herself. She hates being honest with herself.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly, “how come you never told me what was goin’ on before you dropped out?”

Nina gives her a curious, guarded look. “That was nearly three years ago.”

“I ain’t asked before. You coulda told me, you know. I woulda kept it secret.”

“I guess I didn’t wanna make it anyone else’s problem.”

“The fuck kinda answer is that? If that’s your logic should we of just not said nothin’ when Usnavi got attacked over Christmas ‘cause that’s his problem, not yours?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is the same! Talking about it was really hard for all of us, but we still did!"

"Why are you angry at me?" Nina says, aggravatingly calm. "You didn't _have_ to tell me."

“We wanted to. That's what friends are supposed to be like.  You didn’t talk about it when things were on the rocks with Benny either and I don’t understand why you never want to tell me nothin’. I know it sucks gettin' all emotional, but’s supposed to be different when it's us.”

Nina visibly gives in, shoulders falling to a defeated slant. “You want my honest answer? No bullshit?"

"Yes."

"I didn’t tell you about dropping out or Benny ‘cause I’d rather get a huge thing wrong that nobody finds out about than get a tiny thing wrong where people might see it. And I don’t know how much of that is anxiety and how much is just ego, and I'm worried it's more ego than it should be, so I just try not to think about it at all till it ends up exploding in my face. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No, not really, but yeah.”

“Sorry. It’s the truth.” Nina flicks her nails against the railings with a faint _ding_. “It’s hard, y’know? It’s hard to be the person I am here and the person everyone back home knows at once. It’s easier to just be one at a time. I hate the idea that I might come back home and have everyone telling me I’ve changed and I'm not who they thought I was. _”_

Things are gonna change either way, though. Vanessa knows that. Her mom has a job now and is five months sober and every time they talk it makes her seem more like a real person and simultaneously less like someone Vanessa knows, and she wonders sometimes why this is something that only happened after Vanessa moved out instead of two decades ago when it might have made a difference. Nina’s accent is so much more neutral than it used to be before college, she seems more like herself and less like it than she ever used to both at once, and sometimes when Vanessa talks to Ruben he says _coffee_ with a W shoved in that he never used to. And Usnavi has ADHD, and him and Ruben fucked. They’re all a little different every time she speaks to them. 

“Hold still,” she says, lifting the camera.

Nina makes a disbelieving face, a hint of an exasperated smile at the edges. “Really? Right now?”

“Yes.” Right now, just too late for the sunset to be picturesque, leaning against the railings of the outdoor stairwell almost like sitting on a fire escape but not. Nina, curls and serious face and Stanford hoodie, almost the Nina Vanessa grew up with but not. And Vanessa, whatever the hell that means, but she’s trying. You have to try, sometimes. When it matters.

Even though talking about things sucks the absolute most, she says “Nina, I don’t care if you get things wrong, or if you ain't the same as you was in high school, or if you fuckin’ give up college forever to go raise goats on a mountain somewhere. I just want you to let me be friends with whoever it is you change into, even if we ain’t in the same place no more. I need you in my life, okay?” and then she takes the picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [yes don't worry Certain Events That Happened In New York during this chapter will be addressed in the next one, as if i'd skip it]


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [IT HAS FINALLY HAPPENED. aka, the one where usnavi gets fucked, plus like 7000 words of pre-NTT timeline skipping exploring how adding a ruben to the relationship has given usnavi a whole bunch of new things to think about when it comes to his own sexual preferences
> 
> there's a bunch of negotiation/consent discussion/some miscommunication about sex in this so check the end notes for specifics if you think you might need a content warning.]

It ain’t so difficult to navigate a Ruben up in the mix, even now in this early phase. Obviously Usnavi’s been near-exploding since That Night waiting for Ruben to confirm that yeah, this is happening, but even this uncertainty isn’t all that new to him: one more time, there’s someone wonderful in his life who ain’t been treated right, who never got the happiness they deserve. Usnavi can do something about that. If it means waiting, he’ll wait, and three weeks of waiting pays off: it’s Ruben who says  _come back to my place,_ it’s Ruben kissing Vanessa leaning against his front door, his fingers in her hair, his fingers hooked in one of Usnavi’s belt loops.

“This is a very good birthday,” Ruben says, when he breaks away for air. It ain’t even Usnavi’s birthday and he’s inclined to say the same.

“So is this a yes?” Vanessa says, the question from three weeks ago still waiting to be answered. Usnavi can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yes,” Ruben says, simple, unstuttered, pulling his tie loose to take it off looking like he’s about to go Clark Kent to Superman. “I’m ready.”

***

To be honest Usnavi goes into it assuming that when it comes down to getting physical, being with Ruben can’t be  _all_  that different to being with Vanessa, give or take some different bits and pieces, but hey, Usnavi already know what a dick do even if he can’t for the life of him figure out how Ruben manages to fit so much in his mouth because Usnavi sure as hell can’t. And it trips him out a bit the first while, just standing around in the store and suddenly thinking “I fucked a dude!” and then having to go about like that thought ain’t in his head. Other than little details like that, it’s all just someone he’s really into being wicked naked in front of him, so asking him to thinking anything coherent at all is a long shot like, let a boy’s brain melt in peace, por favor. Sex is sex: it’s a way to say  _I wanna make you feel good, I wanna feel good with you, I care about you, I got you._ That doesn’t change from Vanessa to Ruben. So it’s really not all that different.

***

“God, get over it already,” Vanessa says.

Usnavi leans out around Ruben’s shower curtain so she can see on his face how intensely he means it when he says, “I will  _never_  get over it. I been wastin’ my whole life buyin’ boxers from fuckin’ Target while his balls get to be livin’ the high life with whatever the hell those were, what have I been  _doing?”_

_“_ Bein’ too poor for nice things?”

“True dat.” He turns the water off, shakes his hair, takes the towel Vanessa passes his way. She kisses water droplets off his bare shoulders when he steps out of the shower, follows him to Ruben’s bedroom. He’s never gonna complain about having company through the boring parts of the day so he’s never brought up that  _look_  she gets in certain situations when she’s watching Usnavi shave or sort through his mail or other tedious everyday tasks in case she stops. Vanessa’s full of moments that Usnavi’s never asked her to define, all too precious to make her self-conscious about.

He picks up the sweatpants he was wearing yesterday, borrowed from Ruben after they all got rained out of the park, and extricates the boxers from the leg to throw into Ruben’s laundry. Hey, now that’s something boyfriend specific, ‘cause he could never borrow underwear off Vanessa. Well, okay, he could and has and there’s a je ne sais something about it for sure, but in practical daily-wear terms he’s too busy to be tucking himself back in every five minutes where he’s popped out to one side and Vanessa’s little lacy lady-short things weren’t designed for extra carry-on luggage. He shouts, “I’m stealin' another pair of your boxers, Ruben!"

“Go for it!” Ruben yells back from somewhere else in the apartment.

“Holy shit, he folds them all,” Usnavi marvels, opening the drawer. “God bless him but he is one strange-ass dude.”

“Yeah,  _he’s_ the strange one,” Vanessa snorts, as Usnavi strokes the top pair. Whatever, soft things were made to be touched, else what’s the point in them being soft? He riffles through the pile of neatly-folded boxers, trying to find the ones with little rainbows on he’s seen Ruben wear before, when suddenly his hand touches a very different texture. He pauses, pokes curiously, then freezes when he figures out what’s going on under the innocuous top layers of Ruben’s underwear drawer.

“What?” Vanessa asks.

“Mmmnooothing,” Usnavi answers.

Vanessa comes and peeks over his shoulder, and Usnavi shows her, because then at least he’s not the only one dealing with the fact that he just inadvertently discovered Ruben’s sex toy collection.

“Oh, no  _way_ ,” she says. “Guess he wasn’t kiddin’ when he told us he was kinky, what else has he got in there?”

Feeling like the world’s biggest creep but too curious to resist the little Vanessa devil on his shoulder urging him on, Usnavi shuffles various boxers and socks aside. There’s what he was holding, just a standard penis-looking dildo with a suction cup on the end that makes him think of those stuffed animals people stick to their windshields, though presumably that ain’t the intended purpose here. Another one, slightly smaller, bright blue because of course Ruben sticks with his color scheme even for this. A couple weird-shaped somethings of different sizes that Usnavi has no idea what they’re for: tentative guess, he’s gonna assume it goes in an ass? Some beads that kinda look like a rosary, but a rare sense of self-preservation tells him  _not_  to say that to Vanessa because he’s almost definitely wrong. He picks up the blue thing and fiddles with it, then nearly drops it when he accidentally presses something that makes it go  _vrrrrrrr-!_ very loudly.

“¡Mierda!” he says, turning it off and hoping that Ruben didn’t hear.

Vanessa falls back down on the bed with her witchy cackle of a laugh. “Oh, our dirty doctor done got himself all kinds of tricks up his sleeve. Who’da thought he’d have it in him?”

“Who’da thought he’d have  _this_  in him? It’s huge,” Usnavi says, picking up the first one because there’s no buttons on it so it probably won’t start yelling at him, although it does wobble in an unsettling way.

Vanessa gives it an assessing look and says, “eh, it’s like six inches, that’s smaller than you.”

Yo, what is she, the dildo whisperer, how can she tell that just from looking? Usnavi turns it over in his hands, trying to figure out the appeal. “Why’d they design it with balls? They ain’t the most aesthetic part of the show.”

“Iuno, realism? And you gotta have a wide base on it.”

“¿Por qué? Yours doesn’t.”

“You do for ass stuff, so it don’t get lost up there,” Vanessa says, in a tone that implies everyone knows that, which Usnavi definitely fuckin’ didn’t.

“Jeeesus, I think I just clenched up forever, that  _happens?!”_

“Not if you get the ones with baaalls on,” she singsongs. taking it off him to poke him in the cheek with it.

“Gimme that,” Usnavi says, grabbing it to return to its place in the drawer and carefully re-folding everything to cover it. Glad she’s having a great time: Usnavi’s just burning with sympathetic embarrassment, mostly. “Don’t say nothin’ to him about this.”

“Aw, ruin all my fun, why don’tcha?”

“C’mon, Vanessa, this is really private stuff. I don’t think he even meant to tell us half that shit he said when we was drunk.”

“God, you always gotta be so damn thoughtful,  _fine._ I won’t say nothin’.”

“Bueno.” In honesty, Usnavi also don’t wanna get into this quite yet. He’s not disgusted or nothing. This is just a disruptively new emotion, the same as thinking about the things Ruben was telling them he was into on Friday: a little turned on and a lot intrigued and hopelessly, nervously out of his depth, suddenly aware that maybe there’s more to sex and more to dudes and more to Ruben and Vanessa than the simplicity of fun and trust and hella orgasms.

But! There’s a whole Sunday ahead of them to enjoy in other ways, so it ain’t nothing that needs thinking about yet. Usnavi’s always a big fan of never crossing a bridge until he’s already tripped onto it.

***

Over time Usnavi and Vanessa learn how there’s small things in a chain reaction, so small that they’re only seen in terms of effect like the dust particles that set off a sneezing fit. It isn’t always possible to know how a flashback starts. There’s the time they’re all in the bodega giggling over something Sonny says and Ruben suddenly bursts into inconsolable tears mid-laugh.There’s the sentences that suddenly cut off in the middle like Ruben’s a video that needs buffering, frozen in unnatural stillness on a slow connection.

Theres a time that starts out with Ruben on his knees unzipping Usnavi’s pants, not the first time and as good as all the others, when on a dime this one turns into Ruben locked in the bathroom, Vanessa talking to him through the door - “honey, it’s only me, I’m here, I got you”. Usnavi’s still in the bedroom choking back tears: it had been  _fine_ and then out of nowhere, Ruben had looked up at him, looked through him to someone somewhere sometime else, and he’d said  _that_ name, with terror and resignation and defiance.

Later, in the settled dust of the fallout, Usnavi asks if there’s anything else they should know, anything Ruben hasn’t told them. Vanessa’s asked about that before. Usnavi needs to be certain.

“No, it was just…random, there wasn’t any reason, I don’t know why that happened,” Ruben says. He’s in Vanessa’s arms, facing towards Usnavi which means he can’t see what Usnavi can, the way Vanessa’s screwing up her face to keep herself from crying. Usnavi bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t  _know_ , he didn’t do that. Nothing like that.”

Usnavi isn’t really relieved. How can he say it’s nothing like that, when it was enough like that for tonight to remind him?

Almost five minutes of silence later and Ruben says, very quietly, “I thought he was going to.”

Usnavi isn’t really surprised.

***

Sometimes things go wrong and sometimes things go new but mostly things go good, go better the more they learn how to work with each other andnobody mentions any bewildering sex toys, so it’s all not  _too_  different from Vanessa until  _whoomp_ , there a bridge, and not one Usnavi was aware they were gonna have to cross.

Vanessa’s got Ruben underneath her and she asks “what do you want?”, breathy, intense.

“You,” Ruben says, utterly adoring.

Vanessa laughs and kisses his cheek, stays close by his ear to say “yes, but specifics. I know you got big ideas up there.”

“I—“ Ruben hesitates. “You might think I’m weird.”

“You already told us all your kinky little secrets, I’m just askin’ you to pick a card.”

There’s a whole bunch of things he could say, but Ruben’s request is incredibly simple, and the last thing Usnavi expected, for some reason: “I want you to hit me,” he says.

Usnavi’s brain goes ¡¿?!, and doesn’t come up with much else. Why the  _hell_  would Ruben want that?

Vanessa looks wary, says, “Really? Just straight  _hit_  you? Like, where?”

“Anywhere. Face,” Ruben says, then adds, “open-handed, don’t wreck my shop.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna fuckin’ punch your teeth in, dude.” She looks from Ruben to her own hand and back again as she raises it. “You sure about this?”

Wait, she’s actually gonna do it?

“I’m extremely sure.”

“Aite, your call.” Vanessa wiggles her fingers like she’s warming them up. “Ready, baby?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ruben says without any hesitation.

_No?_  Usnavi thinks, with the same kind of muscle-twitch anxiety he used to get when fights broke out at school, someone about to get hurt and Usnavi’s not sure what to do, but too late: the slap hits, not all that hard but very loud, and the sound Ruben makes is indescribable.

Usnavi breathes out steadily through his nose. Alright. That wasn’t so bad. Ruben definitely liked it, at least, his hand instantly going to jerk himself off roughly, quickly. “Vanessa,” he groans. “Holy shit _.”_

“Was that okay?” Vanessa says, touching his cheek in concern. “I didn’t hit too hard?”

Ruben kisses her. “Do it  _harder_ ,” he says, lips still against Vanessa’s.

“Okay,” she says, gleeful this time. One hand makes a fist in his hair pulling his head back and up and she slaps him like she means it this time, once then twice and hard enough to leave a bright pink mark. Usnavi flinches on both impacts. Ruben doesn’t, mouth open to gasp harsh breaths in, already over the edge. His eyes are shining. Might be excitement, it might be tears, or both. Vanessa pets his cheek, kisses the handprint she left there, leans her forehead against his: both of them are giggling in delighted shock and she calls him  _honey, gorgeous, baby_. It’s all just fun.

_(But she’s_ **_hitting_ ** _him.)_

Usnavi appeases the ache in his chest by kissing Ruben softly, softly, nothing changed, nothing broken. Takes Vanessa’s hand in his: she strokes her thumb over his own and it makes him feel better, because Vanessa’s always been sweet touches to rough attitude and sharp tongue, there’s no danger to her. It’s fine. Usnavi’s definitely fine with this.

***

And he is, to an extent, when he sticks to things like gently pressing his teeth against Ruben’s shoulder barely enough to bruise, like holding Ruben’s wrists down but never leaving fingerprints. The rest of it Usnavi leaves to Vanessa, and they’re both too distracted to notice he always looks away during those parts. So it works okay, just one of those little Ruben quirks that Usnavi can live with if it means everyone’s having a good time, and then one day Ruben says “hit me,” and it’s not Vanessa he’s looking at.

“W-what?” Usnavi says. “I—me?”

“Yes.” Ruben’s looking at him like he thinks he’s just teasing, amending to “yes,  _please_?” and biting his lip with that puppy-eyes pleading face. Fuck, Usnavi would give him the goddamn world if he could.

He lifts his hand, slowly. Ruben tilts his head to present his cheek a little, waiting, vulnerable. Vanessa ain’t saying anything, just watching with interest and Usnavi doesn’t  _understand_  this. He knows Vanessa isn’t a violent person, it’s not about causing Ruben pain, it’s about Ruben trusting her with it. But he doesn’t understand why Ruben wants this brought somewhere he’s supposed to be happy. Don’t he know he deserves better than pain? He’s supposed to be  _happy_ now, supposed to be taken care of, and more than that, he’s trusted Usnavi with something too. Usnavi’s seen how Ruben acts different around Benny, Kevin, even around Sonny sometimes. And it’s so much worse with dudes Ruben doesn’t know in the store: he always edges closer to him as soon as they come in, directly at his side like he’s torn between hiding behind Usnavi and hiding Usnavi behind him. So it don’t take a genius to work out that, with very good reason, Ruben’s scared of men.

Except Usnavi. Even with the roadbumps that jolt them all around sometimes, it’s clear that Ruben isn’t scared of Usnavi: he lets Usnavi stand behind him, lets Usnavi stand between him and the door, he’ll let himself sleep when Usnavi’s in the room. He lets Usnavi  _see_  him, touch him, know him. And now Ruben’s here saying  _hit me_  and Usnavi has his hand in the air, unbearably torn between the knowledge that Ruben deserves everything he ever asks for in life and the conviction that, whatever it is that made Usnavi Ruben’s exception, he can’t betray that. He has to be worth the weight of it.

“I-I can’t do it,” he says. “I ain’t doin’ it.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay?” Ruben says, sounding surprised, like the idea that Usnavi might  _not_  wanna slap his boyfriend hadn’t even occurred to him.

“I ain’t gonna do it,” Usnavi repeats urgently. He brings his hand down to his chest, clasps his other one round the wrist to be sure it’s held still, appalled that he even considered it. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, Ruben, I don’t ever want you to think I’d—I don’t ever want this to be somethin’ you’re scared of, you know? I want you to feel safe with me.”

“Hey, I know, I do.” Ruben pulls Usnavi to his side, dots his temple with quick, repeating little kisses. “I do feel safe, that’s why I asked, that’s why it’s okay, but you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to.”

Vanessa shuffles closer and puts her arm around him too. It’s funny how he’s the one being comforted when Ruben’s the one who was about to get beat up, but Usnavi can’t deny he definitely needs a hug. “Do you want me to stop hittin’ him in front of you, too?” she asks.

“I don’t wanna stop you guys doing a thing you like…”

“And I ain’t doing somethin’ that makes you uncomfortable. Me and Ruben can save it for our date nights. Do you want us to stop?”

Usnavi nods.

“Then we stop,” Vanessa says, laying her head on his shoulder and Usnavi leans his head against hers, relieved. Vanessa and Ruben can still get what they want, and Usnavi never has to be the reason Ruben’s crying on his knees. That works a lot better.

***

There’s small things: Three toothbrushes in a cup, three mugs on the countertop. Usnavi fixing Vanessa’s coffee while Vanessa fixes Ruben’s tie while Ruben fixes a mistake in Usnavi’s math on the post-it of his monthly budget that he’s got stuck to the fridge. A routine they settle into that means Usnavi sleeps in the middle on the nights they spend together, he wakes up with company more often than he wakes up alone. There’s small things, the way it only takes two tiny letters for  _like_ to turn into something more.

Unconsciously he and Vanessa have been saying it less while Ruben is around, because it felt strange to not include him and felt too soon to put that on him. But now they’re here all three in love out loud Usnavi can’t stop saying it all the time, those three repeating words in a kickdrum-hi hat-snare, and Usnavi’s heart is always singing singing singing so much he doesn’t know how they can sleep through the sound like they do, so close on either side of him.

***

Morning sex and shower sex and didn’t even make it to the bedroom sex, silly or sweet or slow, almost unbearably emotional sex, a three can interlock in so many variations that it feels like they could go every day for a full year and never repeat it quite the same, different combinations, different moods.

Vanessa’s the one who says, low in Ruben’s ear while Ruben has Usnavi facedown underneath him, “you should fuck him.”

Ruben pauses for a long time, drawing heart shapes on the back of Usnavi’s neck while he thinks. “Do you want me to do that, Usnavi?”

Woah, that’s a question. Three months in and Usnavi’s honestly never even contemplated it. Does he want to? Ruben always seems to have a good time with it.

“Will it hurt?” he asks, warily.

“Not if we do it right,” Ruben says.

“And if we do it wrong…?”

“We won’t. I’ll take care of you.”

Which of course he will, so Usnavi says “yeah, then let’s do this! How should I…be? Like what position’s easiest?”

“Whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

A quick mental montage of - Usnavi in between Vanessa and Ruben, Usnavi on Ruben’s lap, Ruben bending Usnavi over the arm of a couch, over a kitchen counter, on the floor, too many possibilities to count so he goes for how he remembers Ruben’s first time with him: all fours, Ruben behind him. Vanessa sits to the side. Wow. He’s gonna get fucked, then. That’s a whole thing he’ll have to unpack his thoughts on later when he’s not preoccupied with anticipation and all the blood in his body rushing right to one area.

“I love you,” Ruben says, serious and sincere, and Usnavi’s heart squeezes in his chest happily. Ruben loves Usnavi and Usnavi loves Ruben and they both love Vanessa who loves them too, and what could possibly be better than that, other than that plus Vanessa touching Usnavi’s shoulder, his hair while Ruben circles him slowly with a slick finger, asks if he’s ready.

“Yeah.”

“You like that?” Vanessa asks him, one hand on the flat of his back to keep him still while Ruben touches him. It’s unfamiliar, but there’s a quiet hum of definite pleasure as he gets used to it, so he makes an affirmative sound, lets Ruben set pace, revels in being loved. Dammit, he loves them both so much.

Ruben says “you ready for more?”. Usnavi answers  _sure_  on automatic. Two fingers definitely feels  _more:_ more what, he ain’t certain, but there’s a quantity of it for sure. Rubens always really into it at this point. Usnavi mostly just feels strange but that’s probably to be expected. Maybe the position wasn’t the best choice after all: he can’t see either of their faces, and he wishes they would talk a little more to make up for it, and he wishes the lights were a little less bright.

Vanessa says “you good, baby?” and Usnavi says “yeah, I’m good”.

“Another?” she asks and he nods, figuring if they get through this preparation work faster he’ll get to the bit where it gets good faster. Usnavi’s used to the pace of the world being out of step with his, his inability to tolerate waiting for anything meaning that sometimes his mind goes for a bit of wander until whatever it is he’s waiting for arrives. He’s got entire universes crammed into his head to browse through like a DVD library, he jumps from one to the next at speed: his whole thought structure is a series of Super Mario levels of songs and stories and things to get done. Three fingers is…a sensation. Bad? Take a second, take a second…nah, doesn’t seem to match any of his current understandings of Bad: I Do Not Like This feelings. Good? Hm. Speech bubble with a ¿? inside it. Or a message on a magic eight ball: answer unclear, ask again later. Fair enough. He tries to remember if he put the chain on the front door and can clearly picture his hand sliding it into place but can’t remember if that was from today or yesterday or last year. A memory of a sense memory of a scent he’s craving but can’t put a name to. A memory of the way it feels to stand on a train in motion. A little pixellated version of Usnavi leaps around up platforms and down pipes in an emotionally neutral blur of jangly 8-bit music and sentence fragments, idly wondering how other people usually visualize their internal space-out journeys because his is always pretty rad.

“Ruben, red,  _stop_ ,” Vanessa says sharply.

Usnavi spaces back in from a detour in the thought vacation that was simultaneously his grocery list and an incoherent mashup of every song in West Side Story at the sensation of Ruben pulling his fingers out, which is a feeling like when you just realized you’ve been clenching your jaw for ages and the pleasant  _that’s better_ of finally relaxing it.

“Vanessa?” Ruben says, nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“Usnavi,” she answers.

“Hm?” Usnavi says. “Why’d we stop?”

“You weren’t into it,” Vanessa says, “were you?”

Was he? Shit, he wasn’t actually paying enough attention to be sure one way or the other. The few seconds it takes him to try and give a legit answer is long enough for Ruben to basically throw himself almost off the other end of the bed away from Usnavi, looking absolutely horrified.

“You didn’t like it?” he says. “You don’t want to do this?”

“What? No, of course I do, it was fine —“

“It was  _fine_?” Ruben says, going all pitchy. “Usnavi, that’s not what people say when they like something!”

“It  _was_  fine! Really! It just felt kinda…off, but I bet I’ll like it once I’m used to it,” Usnavi tries to reassure him, and apparently fails miserably, because Vanessa makes a disbelieving sound and Ruben just mouths nothing-words at him, speechless. “C’mon, it’s all good. I’m just nervous, everyone’s always nervous their first time. We can just push through it and—where are you goin’?“ because at that point Ruben leaves the room without saying anything.

Usnavi looks at Vanessa for any kind of clarification but all she says is “what the  _fuck_ , Usnavi,” and picks up the t-shirt he tossed on the floor earlier to put on. Usnavi tugs the covers over his lap, since it’s obvious that whatever he’s done has definitely put an end to the proceedings, but he has no idea why. Kinda wishes he could go shower: there’s a time and a place for being this specific kind of sticky and it ain’t now, but the water’s running in the bathroom so he assumes Ruben’s in there and maybe doesn’t want his company?

Ruben comes back from the bathroom, boxers and t-shirt, clean hands which he hides his face behind when he sits down right on the edge of the bed, leaning forward.

“Are you okay?” Usnavi asks. Ruben shakes his head. “I’m…I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re—? I_  should be the one apologizing,” Ruben says. “I didn’t even—I could have— fuck, I-I-I mean, what if Vanessa hadn’t been here? Would you have just let me carry on?”

“No,” Usnavi says.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Alright, yeah, I probably woulda done, but I guess I just don’t see why everyone’s so fired up about it? You didn’t hurt me or nothin’.”

“You really don’t get the problem?” Vanessa asks, skeptical, and he shakes his head. “Okay, you remember our first time together how we were both kinda nervous? And I told you if you wanted to wait it was cool and you said the same thing to me but we both agreed we was ready?”

“Yeah?”

“Bueno, now imagine instead of  _I’m ready_  I’d said _I’ll push through it,_ would you still have gone ahead and fucked me?”

“No, wh— _ohhh_. _”_ When you put it like that, it sounds bad. Sounds a lot worse than it had felt, really, they’re definitely far more upset than he is, but it’s true he wouldn’t ever be cool with working on anything less than an enthusiastic yes and he’d be just as unhappy if he was on their side of it _._ Hell, there’s some things he can’t bear to do even when he gets the yes. “Aw. Shit.”

“Aw shit exactly. You’re meant to tell us if you don’t like something, honey, we can’t read your mind.”

Yeah, only he didn’t  _realize_ he didn’t like it till she said. And he still isn’t sure that he didn’t like it, only that it was more exposing than he’d anticipated, giving more of himself than he’d really understood was there to let someone actually inside his body and it had surprised him into the easier option of spacing out, for reasons he can’t understand. The lack of explanation from himself is frustrating: it wasn’t being naked on his knees thinking Ian was the one standing over him, it wasn’t standing in an abandoned warehouse being told to take his clothes off. And it wasn’t the way Vanessa sometimes comes into the bodega with her keys held between her fingers like brass knuckles, it wasn’t coming out of the bathroom in a club to find Benny with his arm around Vanessa’s shoulder and Vanessa explaining there was some guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer until Benny pretended to be her boyfriend in a voice that indicates this is the millionth time she’s had to deal with something like that. Usnavi knows this shit happens, knows it’s wrong that it does. He knows it makes him so helplessly angry to think about, he knows that the impact of those things makes its way into the bedroom even when none of them are consciously thinking of it. But the worst  _Usnavi_ ’s ever dealt with personally when it comes to sex is his tendency to trip over his own pants when he’s getting undressed, so why the hell would he be feeling weird about doing a thing he’s pretty sure he wants to do with two people he trusts more than anything?

“I don’t get it though,” he says. “I should be fine with it, right? You two do all your thing together, Ruben lets me fuck him and he’s got way more reason not to want nothin’ like that, and I don’t get why I can’t?”

“I don’t  _let_  you fuck me,” Ruben says. “I  _want_ you to. Big difference.”

“You don’t need a reason,” Vanessa says. “ _I don’t want to_  is enough.”

“But I do want to! That’s the thing, I do want to, but also I’m real glad we didn’t, so now I’m just confused _.”_

“Then maybe you just ain’t ready yet?”

“I—huh. Maybe that’s it. Huh."

Ruben says, “think about it, I knew I was into guys since I hit puberty, you thought you were straight until a few months ago. I’ve been thinking about this stuff way longer than you. You’ve seen my drawer, I’m clearly no stranger to putting things up me.”

Usnavi laughs at that, and at himself too. Jesus, what an moron, the idea of taking things slow genuinely hadn’t occurred to him, or at least not on his own behalf. Usnavi ain’t one for delayed gratification, and he’s far too much one for delayed action, so that most of the time it feels like  _now or never_  is always the only choice. It always seems to take someone else to remind him that nine times outta ten it could just be _now or slightly later_  instead.

“But you have do have to  _tell_  us when you’re not feeling something,” Ruben insists, “for our sake if not your own. I’d never forgive myself if I did something that—if I— I can’t do it, okay? So don’t make me.”

“Okay. Okay, I hear you, I’m sorry.”

There’s a lull in the conversation while they all try to figure out what to say next, so Usnavi fills it by asking, “am I boring at sex?” because it’s a little bit of a concern, not gonna lie. He’s mostly expecting some  _of course not!_ reassurance. Tiny bit worried he’ll get a  _kinda._  He gets a Sad Ruben Face instead, and marks that in the losing column of the constant mental tally of Did I Make Them Happy? Boo.

“Is that why you were gonna do this? Because you think we think you’re boring?” Ruben asks.

“Iuno,” Usnavi says, because he doesn’t know. “But do you think that?”

Sarcastic Ruben Face. That’s a better one. “Yes, it’s  _so_  boring to keep getting fucked senseless by my hot, hung, thoughtful, funny boyfriend, I’ll have to start bringing a book to bed to pass the time.”

“If you was boring at sex do you really think I’da given up all my one-night stands to bang you on the regular?” Vanessa says, in an  _ain’t this too obvious to even discuss_ tone.

“Even though I won’t slap anyone and I don’t own no sex toys and Ruben didn’t fuck me and I ruined the mood again?”

“Even though. Babe, last week you made me come three times in a row then brought us ice-cream in bed, if that ain’t five star service right there.”

“I did do that,” Usnavi says. “I guess I  _am_ pretty amazing, ain’t I?”

“Oh, I sent him too far the other direction. Ruben, balance his ego out for me, say something mean about his face.”

Ruben finally comes back to sit next to Usnavi, nudges him with an elbow then goes for the full cuddle, arms and legs wrapped around koala-style. “You’re amazing,” he says.

***

Weeks keep going by and sex keeps being great, but Usnavi’s always on top. Ruben doesn’t even mention what happened, never mind asking if he wants to try it again, so Usnavi assumes it’s up to him to initiate next time. But how’s he supposed to  _know_  when it’s time, if he needed Vanessa to tell him when it wasn’t?

He asks her how she could tell he wasn’t into it and she just shrugs and says “‘cause I know you?”, which is a) very sweet and b) fuckin’ useless in terms of practical application. So Usnavi asks the one person he always asks for romantic advice, the one way he always asks: while sitting upside-down with his head hanging off the edge of Benny’s couch playing incredibly violent xBox games on multiplayer.

“Wait, but I thought you’d been sleepin’ with Ruben since the start, have I missed somethin’?” Benny says. “Yo, I can’t see you, where you at?”

“Up the stairs. I…yeah, I been sleepin’ with him, but not vice-versa, you get me?”

“On your right! No, that’s left, on your— _nice,_ and no, I don’t get you. Careful!”

Usnavi flawlessly executes his best strategy for dispatching an enemy - wild button-mashing while shouting - and once he’s done that he says “I’m sayin’ I’ve, y’know, given but I ain’t received. I pitched but ain’t caught. I been the plug but not the outlet, the letter not the envelope, the hot dog not the—“

“Jeez, okay, I get it.”

“You sure? Because I got a ton of these and I don’t know when else I’m gonna use ‘em.  _Fuck_ , I’m gettin’ my ass kicked, where’s the— ”

“I’m sure. Hold up.” Benny pauses the game.“You suck at multitaskin’. Um, I thought that with two guys you uh, just pick a role and stick to it and even while I’m sayin’ it I’m realizin’ that ain’t how it works, is it?”

“Yeeeah, that ain’t it.”

“Sorry,” Benny says, with an apologetic grimace; Usnavi makes a  _no worries_ gesture. “This ain’t my wheelhouse.”

“Is it weird I asked? It’s just whenever it’s girls—“

“It ain’t weird, just don’t expect me to know what the fuck I’m talkin’ about,” Benny says. “You were sayin’ you tried it and didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t  _not_ like it,” Usnavi says. “It didn’t hurt or nothin’, it was just…like, emotionally more than I was expectin’.”

“Well shit, bro, guess you just gotta wait then.”

“That ain’t much advice, Benny.”

“S’all I got. Aite, look at me and Nina, we were together night one, and I remember it took you and Vanessa way longer, so how’d you know with her when it was the right time?”

Usnavi frowns to himself, trying to remember. “Iuno. I looked at her and I could just tell.”

“Well, there you go then,” Benny says. “Don’t overthink it, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Cool,” Usnavi says. “Next question: how do I stop overthinkin’ things?”

“Can’t unteach a fish to swim,” Benny says, and then unpauses the game and instantly shoots Usnavi in the head.

***

The next time he feels ready it’s Vanessa who he asks, because he thinks Ruben might stress over whether Usnavi’s gonna speak up, and sure enough as soon as he brings it up Ruben shuffles back a few inches and makes it clear he’s just observing. Gives it a weird kind of taking-his-driving-test feel but not in a way Usnavi’s objecting to, because he likes it when Ruben watches.

Vanessa makes a  _considering it_  clicky noise with her tongue and says “you swear you’ll tell me when it’s too much? Or even if you just ain’t sure?” and Usnavi promises he will, and because Usnavi keeps his promises he makes sure to pay attention, to how it feels and the tingle up his spine that says  _I like this_ and  _yes, more, I like this_ when she goes to two fingers and paying attention when the itch down his neck starts saying _I like this and everything’s getting loud and where did I leave my hat? And what’s that one song with the thing that goes like woosh at the start, you know, with the guy? Metronome sounds. Indefinable emotion that sounds like it looks purple. I like this and my teeth feel like they’re vibrating, kinda, like with your head against the window of a car while you’re sleeping in the back of the cab —_

“More?” she asks again, and he shakes his head, asks “can we go back to just one, actually?”

She does. Things quiet down, at least as much as they ever can do in Usnavi’s head.

“Better, querido?”

“Yeah.  _Yes_. Come kiss me.”

“So demandin’,” she tuts, but she does that too because Vanessa is the greatest girl.

Not the next time but the time after, Ruben asks Usnavi if he wants it and Usnavi feels like he’s just aced a test, bonus marks later when he says  _that’s enough, actually_  because Ruben seems relieved that Usnavi will tell him to stop. So this is how they do sometimes, and sometimes more and sometimes less, no pre-emptive nerves for after this and after that, just reveling in a very good present tense under two pairs of careful loving hands. Usnavi’s never been ungrateful for a now. It’s all anyone has and what he has now is more than he ever could imagined, he doesn’t need to psyche himself out thinking about the next  _more_  just yet. Life is good, sex is good, hearing about Vanessa-and-Ruben times after the fact when they can cut details to make it Usnavi-friendly is good, that time they tie Usnavi up and have their wicked way with them is every synonym for good in the English and Spanish dictionaries plus a few extras that he’ll have to make up just for the occasion because hot  _damn_. All the circuits utterly blown on Usnavi’s already busted verbal filter so his entire brain is babbling out of his mouth, love and need and “you can fuck me or I’ll suck your dick or you can come on my face, please—“

Ruben maybe doesn’t hear him say it in the general sex chaos, and Usnavi doesn’t remember about it till days later when he wakes up solo with enough time to get in some pre-work jerking, when his own voice saying  _you can fuck me_ is playing in his head, when in this imaginary version Ruben says  _okay_  and unties him, flips him over, and suddenly Usnavi’s scrambling for the lube on his knees with one hand in front keeping him steady on the mattress, two fingers in himself at six thirty in the goddamn morning saying “fuck me, Ruben, fuck me _”_ out loud and where in the hell did  _this_ come from, por favor, but he ain’t gonna stop when it feels this way. Does mean he ends up almost an hour late opening the store, where parts of his soul keep dying every time a customer asks why he wasn’t around for them to get their pre-work coffee earlier and is everything okay because he’s never late. He assures them as normally as possible everything is  _very_ okay. Privately, he’s thinking maybe about to get a whole lot okayer soon if he’s reading his own signs correctly, and then the very next week someone puts in an offer to buy the store.

***

Usnavi’s Journey To Bangdom gets put on major backburner for near on six weeks, for reasons of Bodega Gone and Nearly Died That One Time and Network Connectivity Problem In The Pants and no, having malfunctioning junk don’t help with the depression at all, thanks for asking. On the upside, absence making the heart grow whatever, he’s never been as overjoyed to have morning wood as he is after a four day stretch free of post-almost-murder anxiety attacks and a particularly pleasant night of dreams. He’s so happy to see it that he accidentally announces “yo, I’m hard again!” loud enough to stir the other two out of their post-alarms five-more-minutes of sleep.

Ruben lifts the quilt and says “¡bienvenido, Usnavi’s erection!”, then mimes like he’s shaking a celebratory bottle of champagne then popping it. Or maybe he’s miming jerking off very enthusiastically with happy ending, but either way.

“Can Usnavi’s erection be quieter before eight AM, ¿por favor?” Vanessa says. She lays her hand over the front of his boxers. “Good  _morning_ , Usnavi.”

“I’ll say,” Usnavi agrees.

***

Vanessa leaves, but they find ways to keep her here, even when it comes to coming: there’s Vanessa’s voice murmuring instructions down the phone quiet so her housemates can’t overhear; there’s the videos Usnavi sends her, shaky camerawork from the motion of his other arm; there’s the nerves of having to check five times every time that he’s not sending pictures in the wrong text conversation; there’s that one time Vanessa forgets to lock her door and now Nina knows a  _whole_  lot more about what everyone looks like naked than any of them ever needed. There’s never as much Vanessa as Usnavi want, he misses her, he misses her, but he’d be patient for four  _thousand_  months just so long as she came back to him at the end.

And Ruben is here: Ruben taking over the process of choosing a vibrator to buy Vanessa for Valentine’s day because Usnavi took one look at the website and went into total dong overload; Ruben’s fingers, delicate and steady as they turn over the leaves of all his plants checking carefully that everything’s in order; Ruben patiently talking Usnavi through a bad evening murmuring  _I know, I know, I’ve got you_ ; Ruben in the shower with his bangs wet against his forehead, in the middle of the night sighing out pleasure against Usnavi’s skin, in the morning half-asleep half-hard against Usnavi’s thigh.

Today: Ruben is here and is dressed in Comfy Weekend Ruben clothes. Comfy Weekend Ruben is one of Usnavi’s favorites: the boy get  _cuddly._

“Hey there, pretty thing,” Usnavi says as Ruben wraps his arms around Usnavi’s waist to watch him do the dishes.

“What do you think Vanessa’s doing right now?” Ruben asks, thoughtfully.

“Paparazzing with the rich and famous and glitzy and glamorous, I guess. And here’s us cleanin’ the kitchen.”

“I can be glitzy and glamorous.”

“You’re wearin’ sweatpants.”

“I’ll get some of the ones with a word in sequins across the butt.”

“What word?”

“U _m_... _._ _Ruben_ , probably. What would you go for?”

“I don’t got room to write nothin’, Vanessa always says I got a skinny ass. Except usually she’s gropin’ it when she says that, so I get some mixed messages there.”

“She’s definitely into it,” Ruben confirms. “I’m also into it, FYI.”

“Feel free to _get into it_  any time,” Usnavi says, wiggles his eyebrows even though Ruben can’t see his face, then wiggles his hips.

Ruben laughs, which is what Usnavi was aiming for. It’s always what Usnavi’s aiming for. He generally only manages to be sexy and sultry by accident, but he knows he can make them laugh and that’s his thing and he’s happy with that. Just a normal Usnavi joke, followed completely unexpectedly by “do you wanna, though?”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna…y’know,” Usnavi says. Now he’s thought it he might as well commit: Usnavi’s impulse ideas are always either his best ideas or his absolute worst, and Ruben fits perfectly curved against him at his back, and the tug in the pit of his stomach right now isn’t anything like nerves, just a rolling grabby  _I want that_ feeling.

Ruben says, “for the sake of avoiding a hilarious confusion you should maybe tell me out loud.”

“Do you wanna—“ Usnavi starts for a third time, then in the spirit of keeping things clear changes it to, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Bwuh.” Ruben clears his throat, wide-eyed. “Uh. Right here? Now?  _Me_?”

“No, dude, I was thinkin’ next Tuesday in Times Square,” Usnavi says, rolling his eyes. “I kinda pictured a bed, but now, and you, yeah.”

“Oh, geez,” Ruben says, in a helium voice.

“Is that a yes?” Usnavi asks, hopefully.

Ruben grabs his hand and drags him at a run towards the bedroom.

***

It’s one of those like teleportation, zero to horned-up in a blink: one minute Usnavi’s doing dishes and next he’s got half his clothes off on the bed, shirt hanging off his shoulder and tank top pushed all the way up round his armpits, jeans caught around one ankle, Ruben’s sweatpants and boxers on the floor while he’s got Usnavi’s legs apart and rutting frantically up against him.

“Wait—“ Ruben groans, as if he’s not the one doing all the action.

“Been waitin’,” Usnavi objects, open-mouth kissing along Ruben’s shoulder, tongue against his skin. “Time to do.”

“ _Wait,”_ Ruben says again, stilling his movements with obvious effort. Usnavi waits but Ruben just kisses him sweet, kisses him vulnerable: the palm of Ruben’s hand is over Usnavi’s sternum (Ruben doesn’t let anyone touch there on himself, so it always seems like a meaning when he does it to them). Usnavi touches spun-sugar-delicate at the front of Ruben’s throat (Usnavi hasn’t even been able to wear sweaters with high necklines since December), and feels the vibration of the syllable under his finger when Ruben says “hey.”

“Hey, there.”

Ruben smiles briefly, then looks into Usnavi’s eyes like he’s trying to see behind them. “You’re not just doing this because Vanessa isn’t here, right?”

“Why would I—“

“I don’t want you to think you need to be both of you to be enough for me.”

Usnavi shakes his head. “That ain’t what this is. Honest, I been thinkin’ about it for ages. If December hadn’t been a hell nightmare and that thing where my stuff was too sad to work I probably woulda asked forever ago.”

“Just…tell me you want it, and I’ll believe you. I need to hear you say it again.”

Usnavi flips them over so that he’s on top, hips rolling down. “Does it  _feel_  like I want it?” he says. He doesn’t feel nervous or pressured or not enough. He feels like he rules the fucking world right now.

“So  _say_  it.”

“I want this,” Usnavi says. “C’mon, Ruben, stick a dick in already.”

Ruben laughs, silly genuine giggle, Usnavi’s favorite. “Okay, I’ll buy it. But there’s other stuff we gotta do before we get to any dick-sticking.”

***

Other stuff means: taking the rest of their clothes off to let their palms map out each other’s geography in touches and shapes, topography of Usnavi who’s a flat landscape and Ruben, his boy a texture map of woven highways. Usnavi used to try not to draw attention to the fact he was touching the scars but these days he forgets himself and always ends up following their path specific with the side of his thumb, forgets they mean  _pain_  because they also just mean  _Ruben_  and sometimes those two things are the same but right now it only means that Ruben’s comfortable letting Usnavi follow all his roads. Ruben’s fingers down Usnavi’s sides, travelling each rib individually, the touch at the tendons on the inside of his thighs and Usnavi rolls over to be facedown, complains at the coldness of the lube while Ruben holds him open and pours it straight on him.

“Tell me if things get too much,” Ruben says and even though Usnavi promises he will, Ruben keeps asking, keep checking,“is this okay?” and “are you okay?” every few minutes.

All of it is more than fuckin’ okay, Usnavi is gasping out against the sheets at one and two and three, rides the present tense until something new: Ruben moving his fingers apart a little, stretching him out, and Usnavi thinks about what he’s preparing him for with the hairs raising up on his arms. It’s not a bad anticipation, but an awareness of the fact that this time there’s a Something Next gonna happen.

“Ruben,” he says, muffled against his own arm. “I’m gettin’ kinda nervous.I don’t wanna stop. Just thought I should tell you.”

“Thank you,” Ruben murmurs quietly to him, stops what he’s doing anyway. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know. I guess just I’m used to fingers but I know it’ll feel different. I still wanna do it.”

“There's no rush,” Ruben reminds him. “I really don’t mind if it takes all night. Or another year. Or never. I’m not gonna do it till you’re ready, okay?”

"Okay."

Not quite all night but it takes more time than Usnavi can exist in, anything more than a couple minutes being what may as well be eternity. Stretch and prepare and Ruben, moving to kiss the backs of Usnavi’s thighs then pouring more lube on him before he slides his dick against Usnavi’s ass. Usnavi trips out for a second at thinking:  _well that sure is going inside me later_ , but he cranes his head to make out with Ruben over his shoulder, and he gets used to this too: the weight and the heat of Ruben hard, sliding, and the tip keeps pushing against his hole and Usnavi’s saying “I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready.”

“Didn't catch that. You’re ready?”

“Yes!”

“Are you suuure?”

“You’re just messin’ with me now.”

“Yep,” Ruben says, plants a little kiss just behind Usnavi’s ear. “You wanna stay like this, or?”

“No. I wanna look at you,” Usnavi says immediately, because that much he’s sure of. “It’s my first time, I wanna see your face.”

“Some might call that questionable taste, but it’s your party.” Ruben flops down on the bed, then sits back up and points at the top drawer.“Oh, wait, condom or no? Less messy.”

He’s already covered in like half a bottle of lube, it’s a lost battle. Definitely already got it on Ruben’s sheets, too, the towel they laid down under him crumpled off uselessly to one side. “Nah, fuck it.”

“That’s the plan.” Ruben settles back in a half-lying, half-sitting position against the pillows. “You still nervous?”

“Nope,” Usnavi says, absolutely certain. “You?”

“Terrified,” Ruben says, cheerfully. “I really don’t wanna mess this up for you.”

“Positive attitude, querido, you’re meant to promise to blow my mind right out the back of my skull.”

“Uh, I’ll try?”

And then it’s time, Ruben holding himself in place and Usnavi kneeling over him, sinking onto it, and it’s happening, and it’s happening slow: adjusting to the feel of himself being entered, a moment where he knows he’s not even got the head in and feels like he can’t take any more, like physically his body won’t allow it but it’s really just that it’s  _so_  slow _._

_Be patient_ , he reminds himself, although it’s pretty easy to remember anyway because fast seems like it would have consequences he’d prefer to not discover. Ruben is shaking a little underneath him, hands clenched at his sides.

“You good, hermoso?”

“Trying not to move till you’re ready,” Ruben says through gritted teeth like even moving his mouth too much might be a problem.

Usnavi laughs, motions for Ruben to take his hands then presses at his curled-in fingers so they open and can be laid flat on Usnavi’s legs. He wonders what Ruben was thinking the first time Usnavi did this to him, or the first time he did it to himself and what it was like for Vanessa the first time she fucked either of them, scent memory of her perfume, taste memory of the first night with Ruben that was Usnavi’s first ever time sucking dick, imagined near-future memory of how Ruben’s gonna make him feel imagined further-future-memory of when Vanessa gets to watch this happen and and something too big to be any memory of how good they  _always_  makes him feel. Ruben’s hands sliding under his legs to help Usnavi keep his balance, trying so hard not to move but unable to stop himself on that last little bit, a tiny twitch upwards and then Usnavi’s taken all of him.

“Oh, Usnavi says, surprised, because he’d sort of forgotten other things existed than a series of partial unchased thoughts and the feeling of being filled. “That’s it?”

Ruben gives a flat look off to one side like he’s spiking the camera on the Office, and drums his fingers on Usnavi’s thigh in an  _excuse me_  way, though he only holds the expression for a few seconds before his mouth goes all wiggly in a suppressed smile.

“I didn’t mean—“ Usnavi’s laughing too much to finish his sentence. “No, I meant in a good way, like…I did kinda think it would hurt some? And it don’t?”

“I said it wouldn’t if we did it right,” Ruben says. Usnavi can feel the way it shifts inside him when Ruben sits up straighter to meet their mouths together, kisses confident and body tentative moving so Usnavi can get enough sensation to make a judgement on how he feels about it.

"You good?" Ruben asks.

Is he? Usnavi lifts his hips just a little, goes back down, the way Ruben slides out then in and how it feels like much more than it really can be from such a small movement. “Yeah,” he says, his voice sounding oddly ethereal. “Yeah, I’m real good.”

Quiet accustoming builds eventually to noise: external, the bed starting to creak, Ruben huffing something just too quiet to be called a grunt at every thrust, the faint sound now there’s enough momentum for Ruben’s hips to hit against Usnavi’s ass with a little more force. Internal:  _love_ and  _love_  and  _Ruben_ and  _more,_ then a sensation that rings out somewhere deep that Usnavi didn’t know sensation could happen, all over and nowhere and slightly outside himself at once. His toes curl up with it.

“Yo,  _what?_ ” he says. “Do that again.”

Ruben does, keeps doing it when he hears the torrent of nonsense Spanish-English-whimper-moan that involuntarily pushes out of Usnavi’s mouth each stroke. Usnavi rides down and Ruben rides up and they’ve obviously been doin’ the do the whole time but like, all of a sudden they are  _doing_ it, you know?A building in-out-in until they’re going so hard that Ruben accidentally slips out; they both groan.  Ruben guides himself back in babbling “you’re so hot, oh my god, this is insane, what the hell, oh my  _god_ ”, rolling Usnavi so they’re both lying on their sides facing each other, Usnavi with his legs still wrapped round Ruben’s back.

It ain’t the most eloquent dirty talk, and Usnavi would usually tease him for it but the only thing he’s coherent enough to say right now himself is “fuck, fuck, fuck me, _fuck me,”_ like Ruben might stop if he don’t keep telling him. He takes Ruben’s hand and curls it round his own dick with an encouraging movement that Ruben picks up fast, Usnavi’s fast falling into a point of no return and not quite close enough, like reaching for something on a high shelf where your fingers just brush the edge - almost got it, almost, come  _on._

“More, harder, Ruben,  _yes_ —“,then Ruben finds that spot again, keeps hitting it. It wrenches climax out of Usnavi in a way he’s not felt before, deep and rolling like bassline vibration and then drop the fucking beat. Ruben’s hips start working erratically the second Usnavi tightens round him, Ruben’s hand all wet pawing haphazardly at Usnavi’s hips and his back and his hair but Usnavi doesn’t care right now, just holds onto him with his fingers digging so hard in that you could probably take his actual fingerprints from whatever mark they’ll leave behind.

Ruben says, “I’m, I, fuck, where do you want me to—“

“Keep goin', wanna feel it, I wanna feel you come in me, I want you, love you love you I love you I—“ and the rest of it gets all mixed into the noise Ruben makes as he finishes, Usnavi can feelit when it happens. They lie still interlocked together and almost motionless except that Ruben’s shuddering and Usnavi’s legs keep twitching, until Ruben says in a very tiny voice, a long time later: “oh wow.”

It’s pretty accurate.

“Yup,” Usnavi says, nosing against Ruben’s shoulder and the side of his face. His hair is all fluffy and ticklish and gets in Usnavi’s mouth kinda but he’ll live with that. “Sooo, we just did that. That just happened. In real life!”

“Mmmhmm. Was it—how was it for you?”

“Fuckin’…yeah,” Usnavi says, and laughs at his own speechlessness. “A real whole lot of yeah. A mountainful. It was… surreal.”

“That’s definitely the word I was hoping you’d use.”

“It was  _awesome_ ,” Usnavi says, which doesn’t seem like enough, but they don’t make words enough for some things. “We’re definitely doin’ it again someday _._  Damn. Uh, did you get come in my hair?”

Ruben pats the back of Usnavi’s head to check. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Gross.” He doesn’t give a shit really, but Ruben takes it as a cue to move. He finally slides out and now all Usnavi’s left with is a unpleasant damp trickle and a sudden feeling of intense loss as Ruben sits up at the side of the bed like he’s about to leave.

“No, wait, come back,” Usnavi says, and is surprised at the sound of tears in his voice and the tremble in his lip.

Ruben catches it too, eyes going wide. “Usnavi,” he says, in the same tone Vanessa did that time she had to safeword for him. “Querido, what’s wrong?”

“I just- it just—“ damn, he doesn’t even know, it feels like someone’s inflating a balloon inside his heart. Everything is different now, but everything’s just exactly the same, and it shouldn’t be possible to have both. He got  _fucked_ and it was amazing, and Ruben is amazing, and Ruben was inside him and now he isn’t any more, and he wants to be back in that moment and he wants to have Vanessa here to share it with them and life is just a whole lot of big everything, ain’t it, and all of it is finite which only makes it mean so much more and Usnavi didn’t even know that post-banged ecstatically existential  _was_  an emotion but here he is.

Ruben doesn’t pick up on any of that and is hesitantly hovering his hands near Usnavi, not touching him but Usnavi wishes he would. “Should I...I don’t know what to—did I hurt you, or —“

“No, I’m great,” Usnavi says, and he means it. “I just…I love you so much. I love you so  _goddamn_ much and it’s kinda makin' my face leak but I’m fuckin’ stellar, I’m fuckin’  _inter_ stellar _,_ I swear.”

Ruben gives a relieved little laugh, lets his hand drop to rest on Usnavi’s chest. “Well, I love you too. Even though your hair is full of come.”

“We’ll shower later. Can we just… hang out a while? Stay with me?”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Ruben says, lying back down and shifts one leg so it’s pressed in between both of Usnavi’s, and his fingers against the back of Usnavi’s neck write messages Usnavi can’t follow, but he thinks he understands them. “We can hang out. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [content warnings:
> 
> \- Ruben has a flashback during a hookup and mistakes Usnavi for Ian. Neither the flashback nor the hookup are explicit, but there's a little bit of discussion about whether Ian sexually assaulted Ruben (he didn't, thought Ruben says he was afraid he was going to.)
> 
> \- Ruben asks Vanessa to hit him during sex - all the hitting that does happen is consensual but Usnavi is uncomfortable with watching it and with later being asked to hit Ruben himself (he doesn't). They discuss it and agree not to do it when Usnavi's around any more.
> 
> \- There's a failed first attempt at Usnavi bottoming where he rushes himself into it without really thinking, though they only get to the preparation stage. Vanessa safewords on his behalf because she realizes before he does that he's not enjoying it. Again, all talked about and resolved.]


End file.
